


Devil in a Blue Dress

by leftennant



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tasertricks - Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Crack, Darcy is in charge of Hell, Demon AU, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Loki sells his soul to rule Asgard, Slow Burn, demon!darcy, smut imminent, tasertricks - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:49:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3371855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftennant/pseuds/leftennant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Darcy offered to rule hell so that her Uncle Lucifer could attend a conference, she never expected it to be so boring.  However, all that changes when she answers the call from an irritated and incarcerated God of Mischief.  He wants Asgard.  She wants to collect her first soul.  They come to an agreement, but will she be able to collect her prize when the time comes, or will the two of them find they got far more than they bargained for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tricks and Brimstone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LicieOIC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LicieOIC/gifts).



> Okay, this story was totally not on my radar two days ago. Then Licie tagged me a post on tumblr about one member of your OTP selling their soul to the other, and I could not get the idea out of my head. It's going to be short and angst free. (I know! Who knew I could do angst free? Or a short Tasertricks story? Crazy.)  
> So yeah. There's gonna be five chapters of total nonsense, flirting, and our favorite idiots working together to take over Asgard. :D I hope everyone enjoys it.
> 
> **********************************************************

Darcy flopped across the shiny onyx throne in Hell’s main hall, and twirled her uncle’s scepter in one hand while sighing loudly. She was dying for some excitement. When she’d offered hold down the fort for a few days so the Morning Star could head up a convention of demons in Biarritz, she never expected that the job would be so mind-numbingly devoid of fun. Unfortunately, it seemed the lesser denizens of Hell got to do all the good stuff, while the ruler basically just sat around looking impressive. 

For the umpteenth time that morning Darcy wished that she had just gone to the conference. Seriously. She could be snowboarding right now, or drinking grappa or something. This sucked. She was never doing her uncle another favor again. 

Her wings twitched impatiently. Maybe she could have some souls sent up to torture or something. Did they still keep a vat of boiling oil behind the throne room in that alcove? She’d have to ask Forcas.

“FORCAS!” she shouted, looking around for her uncle’s steward. 

He came scuttling in from one of the arched doorways lining the room, and began bowing effusively. “Yes, My Lady Decarabia?”

“For the love of blasphemy, Forcas, how many times have I told you? It’s Darcy. Just Darcy. No one calls me Decarabia anymore. What century are you living in?”

“Forgive me, Lady Decarabia. It will not happen again.”

Darcy sighed for the second time in as many minutes, and rubbed her eyes with her hand in frustration. “Whatever. Listen, am I missing something here? All I do is sit around all day. Isn’t there like...I don’t know...something else I should be doing?”

“Oh, well, I suppose I could find something, but truly Your Depraved Munificence…”

“Darcy.”

“Your Depraved Munificence Darcy,” he corrected, and she wondered if banging her head on the arm of the throne was an option. “You do not need to trouble yourself. Everything is being handled quite well by His Most Malevolent Majesty’s lesser demons.”

“Right. I know, but here’s the thing. Let’s just say I want to trouble myself. What then?” she inquired.

“If you are insistent upon finding a task, I suppose you could hear some supplicants,” Forcas offered hesitantly.

Darcy perked up immediately. “Supplicants?”

“Oh, erm...yes. There are always those who wish to turn over their soul to His Most Magisterial Unholiness for one reason or another. You would hear their proposals, and then decide whether or not to accept.” 

“Reeeeally.” She paused for a moment, considering it. The idea wasn’t exactly enthralling, but it wasn’t like she had anything else to do. Besides, maybe one of the supplicants would be interesting. After a few more moments of contemplation she shrugged and agreed. “Okay, yeah. I’ll do that. Send them in.”

Forcas cringed subserviently. “Actually, Your Iniquitous Splendour…”

“DARCY,” she huffed.

“Ah, yes… Darcy, Upon Whom the Morning Star has Bestowed…”

“Oh my god, will you just get on with it!” Darcy yelled, and he practically fainted on the spot. 

Invoking the big guy’s name always got a reaction out of the other residents of Hell, which was precisely why she did it. Unfortunately, the effect it had on Forcas was pretty severe. She had to wait a full three minutes for him to recover, and in that time she decided she didn’t care what he called her, as long as he said what he needed to, and got out of her sight in the most expedient way possible.

Finally he regained his powers of speech. “Forgive my, Your Ladyship. What I was trying to convey, was that the supplicants cannot enter the realms of Hell. You must travel to them.”

“Oh. Well, that’s fine. I could do with a little surface time. I’m starting to get pasty.” Darcy conjured up a mirror and peered into it, frowning. “Is there a list or something?”

“Absolutely, Your Royal Unrighteousness,” he replied, looking beyond please to have actually been of use.

She waited. He just stood there beaming. She waited some more. His beam increased in intensity.

Finally she said, “Can I have it?”

“Oh! Yes, yes. Here it is.”

A thick scroll of parchment appeared in his hand, and he held it out to her.

“I can’t believe my uncle still hasn’t gone digital,” she muttered, taking the scroll. “Thanks Forcas. You can go.”

He practically crawled backwards from the throne room, bowing and scraping the entire way, and tripping over his robe in the process. Darcy slid the ribbon off the scroll and shook it out. It unrolled down the steps of the throne and halfway across the room.

“Well...I guess I start at the top,” she said aloud. 

After several minutes of reading she decided starting at the top was a bad idea. The supplicants were all so mundane. This one wanted to be a movie star. That one wanted a girlfriend. The next one was slightly more interesting. They wanted to invent the world’s most satisfying vibrator. She decided to grant that one as long as the supplicant gave her a free sample. 

About two thirds down the parchment, Darcy came to a name that rang bells. Not only that, but the supplicant wasn’t some lowly human requesting fame or fortune. Oh no. It was the Trickster himself, Loki Laufeyson. Apparently he was having a religious crisis, because the Morning Star wasn’t the boss of the Norse underworld, Hela was. She was gonna be pissed when she found out, too. Lucifer and Hela had been on really bad terms ever since a disastrous blind date they'd been set up on three centuries ago.

Not that Darcy blamed Hela. Her uncle had taken one look at the poor woman, and ditched her for the nearest exit. Darcy would have been pissed too.

Probably not for three hundred years though. You had to admire Hela’s dedication.

Anyway, that didn’t change the fact that Loki seemed like her best bet if she wanted entertainment. She’d never actually met him, but everyone had heard the stories. He’d brought a Chitauri force into New York City and reduced most of Midtown to rubble. It was mostly impressive, if you discounted the fact that he’d been beaten by a ragtag handful of self-proclaimed super-heroes. 

Darcy snapped her fingers, making the scroll disappear. Then she flexed her wings, straightened her dress, and took off flying. She had a hot date with a disgraced demi-god.

********************************************************************************

Loki paced back and forth in his cell, wondering how long it would take him to go mad in confinement. He was no stranger to insanity, having had a fairly extensive acquaintance with it after his fall from the Bifrost bridge. Not that anyone had wanted to hear about it. Oh no. It was, “You’ll never see your mother again,” this, and “You are no longer my son,” that, followed by his very favorite proclamation, “Your birthright was to die.”

If he ever managed to get out, he would make Odin pay in ways that the Allfather could never imagine. And that was saying quite a lot, because his adoptive father was exceedingly inventive in his punishments. Loki smiled grimly. This one had been cruel indeed. Had his mother not found a way to smuggle him some comforts and books, he may have succumbed to madness already.

With a discontented sigh, Loki picked up one of the books off the ornate table his mother had provided, and dropped into the low bunk near the wall. He read for a few minutes and then restlessly snapped it shut. His eyes skipped around the small room, trying to find something to occupy his time. Finally his gaze alighted on a pewter cup within arm’s reach of where he lay. He picked the squat vessel up, and began tossing it into the air, watching it spin end over end before catching it in his hand again.

The forced idleness was toxic to a mind so mercurial. Not that he’d been completely idle lately. No. Loki had been rather busily appealing to whatever higher powers might be listening to grant him a way out. He’d appealed to a few lower ones as well. However, as of yet there’d been no answer. Even Hela was ignoring him. That one cut more deeply than the rest.

He was in the middle of a rather elaborate daydream of what Odin’s expression might look like with a dagger sticking out of his good eye, when there was a strange sound like the rustling of wings, and a voice he’d never heard before said, “Yo. What’s up, Trickster?”

Loki was so startled that he forgot to catch the cup, and hit him in the forehead with a resounding thump. He cursed loudly, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, and sitting up.

“Wow. You’re way less coordinated than I’d been led to expect,” the small female standing on the other side of his cell said.

“Who are you?” he demanded, getting to his feet. “How did you get in here?”

She looked at him as if the incident with the cup had damaged his brain. “I would have thought that was obvious.”

It was then then that he noticed the two glossy black wings neatly folded behind her back. “ _What_ are you? Why are you in my cell?”

“Again, I would have thought that was obvious considering you’re the one who called me.”

“I called you?” Loki knew he was outright staring now, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Could it be that one of the gods he’d call upon had actually sent help? But what sort of help could this rude, be-winged girl be? 

“Oh my god,” she mumbled, grabbing one of the chairs in his cell and spinning it around so she could sit in it backwards. “I never should have left the throne room. From now on I’m going to be content with lounging around and letting Hell take care of itself.”

He snapped to attention immediately. “Hel?”

“No,” the strange girl replied. “Not Hel. _Hell_. You know, the one with double hockeysticks?”

“Hell? Surely you are not Lucifer.” His gaze roved over her, taking in the figure-hugging blue dress, fluffy headband, and towering stilettos. He’d always been under the impression that the Morning Star was a male.

She bristled under the scrutiny. “No. He’s my uncle. I’m watching things for him while he’s away at a conference.”

Loki decided he must be dreaming. “Forgive me. Lucifer, the ruler of hell, is at a _conference_?”

“Yes he is, and I’d appreciate it if you capitalized his title there, buddy. I may not be the Morning Star, but rest assured, I’m perfectly capable of reducing you to ash if I feel like it.” 

“How did you know I did not?”

“I’m one of the Fallen. Reading minds is just a thing I can do,” she replied. “Do you always ask so many questions?”

“I cannot believe this,” Loki said under his breath. “I request help from Lucifer, and get the Demon of Grammar instead.”

“Excuse me, but I’m the Marquess of Hell,”she retorted. “The Demon of Grammar is someone else entirely, and frankly, you should be glad it’s me and not him. He’s aggravatingly puritanical.”

“A puritanical demon?” Loki was now firmly convinced it was a dream. Either that or he really was having single most bewildering conversation of his entire life with a female devil wearing a teal marabou covered headband with what looked like cat ears attached to it. Between the two, a dream was actually the more reasonable explanation.

“You’re not dreaming, and yes those are cat ears.” She reached up to adjust them. “They’re cute, right? Anyway, yeah, he’s puritanical. Who do you think was behind the Salem Witch Trials?”

His brow furrowed. “I do not know what that is.”

“Oh, right. You weren’t there for those. I keep forgetting you're not from Earth. Anyway, like I said, I’m the Marquess of Hell, but you can call me Darcy.” She held her hand out to him, and he stared at it in disbelief.

“Darcy? The Marquess of Hell is named _Darcy_?”

“For fucksake,” she exclaimed, withdrawing her hand. “What is everyone’s problem with the name Darcy? It’s a great name. It’s short, and fun to say, and sounds like an Austen novel. I spent six millennia saddled with the name Decarabia, you’d think people would be more sympathetic about me wanting a change.”

His lips twitched with amusement. “Decarabia?”

“See?” Darcy wriggled her shoulders, stretching her wings above her head before folding them again. “It’s awful, right?”

“I have heard worse.”

“No you haven’t. There isn’t a name that’s worse. Except maybe Algernon,” she mused. 

“Algernon?” Loki found to his surprise that he was starting to enjoy himself. At the very least she was diverting.

“Remember that Demon of Grammar I told you about? He’s Algernon. But like, don’t say it too loud or we run the risk of him showing up. Nobody wants that. Trust me.”

He watched as a delicate shudder ran through her body, making her wings vibrate. “I will trust your word on that.”

“Thanks.”

“Indeed.”

So,” Darcy said, clapping her hands, “I think we have some business to discuss. Ooh, that sounds so official. Doesn’t it sound official? I’m bargaining for an actual soul with paperwork and everything. I love it.”

“Paperwork?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Yep. I’ve got the contract right here.” 

She held her hand out and a rectangle of parchment appeared in a puff of smoke. Loki took it from her, nose wrinkling at the strong odor of sulfur rising up from the surface. 

“It basically says that in exchange for your freedom, and my assistance in your plans for the domination of Asgard, you will deed to me your soul with all rights and privileges therein. According to Forcas it’s pretty standard, but feel free to read it before signing. I can wait.” 

Darcy snapped her fingers, and a large quill pen materialized a few inches from his face. It remained there, lazily bobbing in the air currents of the cell, waiting to be used while Loki read through the contract. The wording was fairly standard, as she had said. Signing it would give her his soul, and he would have control of Asgard until his death. 

“This stipulation here,” he inquired, pointing to one of the clauses at the bottom. “In order for you to lay claim to my immortal soul, I must, in fact, perish?”

She nodded. “Yup. I can’t take it while you’re alive, ‘cause then you’d die. Which would sort of defeat the purpose of me helping you. I mean, selling your soul is a big deal. I’ve got a bargain to fulfill too. Basically, until such time as you suffer a natural death, I’m like your baddass, Hell’s Guardian Angel. Of course after that, I’ll totally own your soul. Not gonna lie, Hell isn’t really fun for the spirits who live there. You might want to think about that before you sign. There’s no rush.”

Loki sized Darcy up. For a demon who was professing to have survived six millennia, she didn’t appear to be that remarkable. Had Lucifer been the one to show up with the contract he might have considered things more carefully, but this one? Loki had outsmarted far more experienced creatures. He had no reservations that he could gain her help, and keep his soul into the bargain. 

“I believe everything is in order,” he said. “Where shall I sign?”

“Yeah?” Her face lit up with excitement. “That’s awesome. Um...right here.” She tapped a spot down near the bottom of the contract.

He laid the parchment down on a nearby table, and signed his name with a flourish. Then he stood back to give her room to sign as well. Darcy conjured up a second pen, this one about a foot long and covered in blue glitter that matched her dress with a spray of peacock feathers at the end. 

“There,” she said, scrawling her name under his. “My first soul! WOO! This was way easier than I thought. Wait until I tell Abaddon. He’s gonna be so impressed.”

Loki felt a sudden twinge of alarm. “Abaddon?”

“Uhuh. We’re sort of like...I don’t know...dating? Fuck buddies? It’s complicated. Anyway, thanks for this.” She rolled the contract up and it disappeared in another puff of smoke along with both pens. “Maybe we should celebrate by going snowboarding.”

He was still reeling from her offhand confession that she was bedding the Demon of Destruction. Of course it would never do to let _her_ see that. 

“Wouldn’t your uncle notice if you were away from Hell too long?” Loki asked.

Darcy’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Probably. Hey, want to come back with me and see it? I’ll let you sit on the throne. Can you imagine Forcas’ face? I bet he actually loses consciousness this time. ”

Loki found himself considering it for moment. Sitting on the highest seat in Hell was an appealing prospect, that was true, but the throne he really wanted was upstairs. “Perhaps another time. At any rate, aren’t you supposed to be assisting me in my subjugation of Asgard?”

“What, you want to do that right _now_?” She pulled a face at him.

“I believe that was the point of signing the contract,” he replied. “Unless you wish to forfeit?”

“Um, no. Geez, haven’t you ever heard that all work and no play makes Loki a dull God of Mischief?” Darcy shook her head. 

“Haven’t you ever heard of keeping your end of a bargain? We did sign a contract.”

“Ugh. Fine. I can’t really devote my full attention to you until my uncle gets back, so here’s what I’ll do in the interim. This cell confines your powers, right?”

“It does,” Loki said warily, wondering why she wanted to know that.

She smiled brightly. “Cool. I’ll just disable that so you can teleport in and out. Try not to get caught, though. I can’t be held responsible if you screw up while I’m gone.”

“Do I look as if I want to get caught?” he asked, glaring at her.

“No, but you don’t exactly have the best track record,” she commented dryly. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t want to get caught in New York either, and look how that ended.”

Loki had half a mind to strip her wings off and used them as a decorative cloak. That wouldn’t gain him Asgard, though. He would have to content himself with waiting until he had the throne. Then he could deal with the impertinent succubus as he saw fit.

“I’m not a succubus,” Darcy said, folding her arms over her chest. “If I were, we’d be having a whole lot more sex right now. And just try to touch my wings. I dare you, asshole.” 

As she spoke, flames began licking over her skin, encasing her in a veritable inferno. He had to turn his head away and cover his face with his arm just to stand the heat. 

“No, really. You wanted my wings? Come get them.”

“You have made your point, Demon,” he said, risking a glance at her from behind his arm.

“I hope so,” she replied, and absorbed the fire back into her skin. “Just remember, I may be adorable, but I’m far from powerless. If we’re gonna work together, you have to start respecting me.” 

Loki straightened up. “As I said, you have made your point.”

“Good.” Darcy yawned. “All this intimidating you has made me tired. I’m going back to Hell and taking a nap. Did you need anything before I go?”

“Have you removed the constraints on my cell?”

“What? Oh, yeah, that.” She waved her hand at the golden energy field keeping him prisoner. “There you go. Bust out, wreak havoc, whatever you want. I’ll see you in a couple of days to check on your progress.”

Darcy’s wings sprang out to their full length, practically touching sides of the room. With one strong beat, they lifted her off of the floor, and she disappeared in a flash of smoke and flame.

He blinked, staring at the spot she’d just evacuated. It was by far the most unexpected encounter he’d ever had. Loki had just begun to turn back to his cot, when she reappeared without warning in a second blinding flash of fire. 

“Sorry to bother you again. I forgot to give you your copy of the contract.” Darcy tossed a rolled up scroll onto the table, and waved. “Bye!”

And that was that. He’d officially traded his soul to the Marquess of Hell for a chance to rule Asgard. Loki fervently hoped it would be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick disclaimer here. I am playing fast and loose with demonology/religion. There are probably going to be inaccuracies because I'm bending things to suit me, and how I want the story to go. It's all very tongue in cheek, and definitely a crackalicious version of a Hell/Tasertricks AU.


	2. The Smooth Stylings of Azazel the Irresistable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucifer comes home, Darcy spends more time with her newly acquired supplicant, and Azazel sticks his foot in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever have a character just sort of take over? Yeah. Azazel is more or less Tom Haverford from Parks and Rec in demon form. So basically take this gif, add some wings and horns, and you've pretty much got an accurate idea of what he's like.
> 
>  
> 
> ********************************************************************

Two days later, Darcy was sitting on the floor in front of the throne using a shallow silver pan full of water to spy on Loki. So far he was doing well setting things up for a bloodless coup. She was pretty proud of him. They were going to have so much fun taking over Asgard.

Truthfully Darcy could use a little fun. There had been a knockdown drag-out fight with Abaddon the day before about her inability to commit. He wanted to make things official, and Darcy just wanted him to shut up and take his pants off. Needless to say, their friends with benefits situation was probably at an end. Again. 

She rolled her eyes thinking about it. What was it about him that kept her coming back? She knew full well that hooking up with the Demon of Destruction always ended badly. Their little spat yesterday had resulted in an earthquake, a tsunami, and about two tons of dead fish being dropped from the sky onto a small town near Lake Ontario.

Anyway, this time they were definitely over....unless he apologized, and stopped acting like a possessive asshat. Then maybe not. Darcy slumped back onto the steps leading to the throne and crossed her legs at the ankles, admiring the pair of periwinkle Converse Allstars she’d conjured up earlier. They were hardcore awesome. With a flick of her fingers, she created a matching cat-eared headband, and went back to watching Loki.

He was in what she assumed was his bedroom, studying some sort of map, and playing one-handed catch with a scary looking dagger at the same time. It would seem he _was_ pretty coordinated when not being startled by a random sexy demon appearing without notice in his cell. Good to know.

Darcy was just getting into how the muscles in his upper arm bunch together each time he caught the dagger, when she heard voices outside the throne room. She looked up, listening hard. She could make out Forcas yammering away excitedly, nothing unusual there, and… Oh hell yes.

“Uncle Lucie!” she shouted, taking to the air and gliding down the length of the throne room. The polished ebony doors at the far end swung open to admit her uncle with Forcas groveling away at his side. 

“Pumpkin!” he exclaimed. He enveloped her in a massive, cinnamon and cedar scented hug. “So? How was the running of Hell? Did you enjoy yourself while I was gone?”

Darcy grimaced at him. “Running Hell was boring. I have no idea how you do this all the time. How was your conference? Did you get any skiing in?”

“The conference went well. I knew Astaroth was the right choice for keynote speaker. Her motivational speech on new ways to corrupt the masses using British celebrities was dynamite. We missed you, though, sweetheart.” Lucifer straightened her headband, which had been knocked askew by their hug. “Running Hell was boring, hm? Didn’t Forcas find something to keep you occupied? We’ve still got that vat of boiling oil behind the throne.”

“Oh yes, Your Exalted Offensiveness. I was most attentive to Darcy while you were gone,” Forcas assured him.

Lucifer leveled an expression of extreme rebuke on him. “FORCAS! Is that any way to refer to the Marquess of Hell? It’s not like you to be so informal. Address my niece by her proper title immediately!”

Darcy’s attempt to hide her snickers resulted in a choking fit that had her doubled over. Poor Forcas. 

“Darcy, why do I feel as if you’re behind this?” Her uncle folded his arms, shaking his head at her. “You really need to stop torturing Forcas. You know what it does to him.”

“Sorry Uncle Lucie. Sorry Forcas. It won’t happen again,” she said with as much sincerity as she could muster between coughs.

“Yes it will. What are we talking about again?” A thin, dark-haired demon with dragonish wings and a tailored grey suit walked in behind them, interrupting the conversation. His face lit up when he saw Darcy. “Well, hello, hello. How’s my favorite fiery little bite of demonic loveliness?”

“Zaze!” Darcy shrieked, pulling her best friend down by the lapels of his suit so she could kiss him on the cheek. 

“Oooh, make a player blush why don’t you?” he said, grinning at her. “And while we’re talking about me, yes, I did hook up with someone at the conference, and it was a-ma-zing.”

“Really? I want to know everything," she demanded. "Human or demon?” 

Azazel looked both ways surreptitiously before leaning down and whispering in her ear, “Neither.”

She gaped at him. “Holy shit. No you didn’t.”

“Oh yes I did,” he replied with a wide smile. “Another halo goes down due to the smooth stylings of Azazel the Irresistable.”

“You didn’t say there’d be angels there,” Darcy said, turning to Lucifer. “Was my dad there? Is that… Is that why you asked me to babysit Hell? Because you knew my dad was going to be there?”

“Azazel!” Lucifer thundered. “I thought we agreed not to discuss this.”

Azazel shrugged. “What are you gonna do? Send me to Hell? Oh wait…” He gestured at the room around them. “Relax, My Lord of All Things Chaos. Darce is a big girl. She can handle it.”

She watched the exchange, certainty sinking in. “So, he was there, then. Did he ask about me?”

Her uncle looked down at her cautiously hopeful expression and frowned. “Pumpkin, you know how my brother can be. He can’t see beyond his pride. I’m sure he misses you…”

“No he doesn’t.” Her wings drooped, feathers brushing the floor. "I'm just a mistake he would rather erase."

“Hey, hey,” Azazel said, putting his hands on shoulders. “Don’t do this to yourself, beautiful. Gabriel is Gabriel. We both know he’s got a cross so far up his butt that he gets splinters every time he swallows. If he can’t see how incredible his daughter is, halo or not, then that’s his loss. Fuck that bitch.”

She glanced up at her uncle, and could see him mentally agreeing with Azazel. “I know you’re right, but I just… He’s still my dad, you know? A little acknowledgement would be nice.”

“Come on,” her friend replied. “You’re the Marquess of Hell. You command thirty thousand demon armies. You were single-handedly responsible for destroying Pompeii, inspiring the creation of automatic weapons, chocolate, _and_ inventing internet porn. Which, seriously, thank you for that.”

“First off, it was Krakatoa, not Pompeii. Second, _you_ invented internet porn. Bringing it up was a blatant self-promotion, Azazel..."

"Whaaaaat? Are you sure? I was the genius behind internet porn?" He slid his sunglasses down his nose in mock surprise.

"...and Abaddon was automatic weapons. I did come up with chocolate, though. That one was mine.”

“See? Screw Gabriel. If he can’t see how brilliant you are, that’s his problem.” Azazel gave her shoulders another squeeze. “Speaking of Abaddon…”

“Let’s not,” she said.

“So that’s what the fish were about,” Lucifer commented. “I should have known.”

“What part of 'I don’t want to talk about it' are you two missing?”

“What part of ‘dating Abaddon again is a terrible idea, and I’m completely against it’ were you missing three months ago?” Azazel inquired wryly.

She huffed in irritation. “Shut up.”

“What was that?” He held his hand behind his ear as if he were having trouble hearing her. “Because what it sounded like to me was, ‘Yes, Zaze, you are totally right, and I promise to listen to you from now on. Also you are incredibly handsome, and debonair, and smell really good today. Is that a new cologne?’ Why yes it is a new cologne, Darcy. I got it in Paris on my way back from Biarritz. And before you ask, yes I did bring you back a present, because I am just that awesome.”

Darcy decided to ignore his atrocious imitation of her voice to focus on more important things. “What sort of present?”

“While I find watching the two of you catch up highly edifying, I do have an underworld to run. Was there anything else you needed to tell me before I take over for you, Pumpkin?” Lucifer asked her.

Wasn’t there something else she needed to tell him? It seemed like there was. What was it?

“Perhaps, Her Immoral Elegance is thinking of her bargain with the Trickster?” Forcas pointed out gently.

“Oh my god! Forcas! Thank you! That’s exactly what it was. I’m sorry I ever called you a useless worm. You’re not a worm. Really.” 

Unfortunately, her apology was lost on him, because Forcas had fallen over in shock from her language.

“You’ve really got to stop doing that to him,” Azazel remarked. 

She sighed. “Yeah. It’s almost not funny anymore. Sad, right? Remember when we thought it would never get old?”

“Really, Decarabia, must you bring that name up down here?” Her uncle glanced down at Forcas who was opening and closing his mouth like a beached sea trout. “We’ve discussed this.”

Crap. Her full name. That was never good. Darcy needed to do some damage control like, yesterday. Good thing she had the perfect way to do that.

“Sorry, Uncle Lucie, it just sort of slipped out. Anyway, I _do_ have something to tell you. Look!” She conjured up the contract she’d made with Loki, and gave it to him.

Lucifer unrolled it, eyes widening with appreciation once he saw the signature at the bottom. “Loki Laufeyson’s soul? How did you manage this?”

“What, like getting a deity from another religion is hard?” she asked, blinking innocently.

“I know you did not just purposefully misquote Legally Blonde,” Azazel complained. “Because you are fully aware that it’s my favorite movie next to Time Bandits, and you would never do that to me.”

“Azazel, are you unable to remain silent for even five minutes?” Lucifer snapped.

The demon pursed his lips. “Lemme think about that for a sec. No. I’m not. Which is probably why you made me your mouthpiece. Oh! What’s that? Azazel is laying down some hard truths on you all? Hells yes I am.” He started moonwalking backwards while making finger-guns with both hands, and Darcy couldn’t decide if she wanted to laugh or facepalm.

Her uncle watched the display for a moment before giving a dismissive shrug of his wings. Insolence was more or less par for the course when it came to Azazel, and everyone knew it. Besides, his unflagging loyalty ensured that he could pretty much get away with anything. 

“I am very impressed, Darcy,” Lucifer said, returning the contract. “Will you be calling upon your armies for this?” 

“I guess it sort of depends on what Loki wants to do, but I think it’s probably a good idea to have them in reserve. Just in case. Either way, he’s not commanding them. Those are my babies. No one is leading them into battle but me,” she answered.

“I think that is wise,” he replied. “We all saw what happened in New York.”

“You have to admit the Stuttgart thing had style though,” Azazel remarked. “I mean, did you see him flip that guy before he poked his eye out? My crew and I were watching down in my media room. Two words: Standing. Ovation. And the whole ‘Kneel’ thing? You know me, I’m all about the ladies, but I might be talked into metro if a little mischief were on the table. You know what I'm saying?”

Darcy looked at his tailored suit, pink shirt, and buffed nails. “Yeah. Because you’re practically a lumberjack right now.”

“Did you just diss the manicure? And before you try to lie, I distinctly saw you roll your eyes at my french tips.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever. You wish your nails looked this good, Stumpy.”

Darcy gasped. 

Lucifer rounded on Azazel in fury. “That’s enough!”

“I didn’t mean…” Azazel began, looking horrified with himself. “I was referring to the fact that she bites her nails, not...you know.” He waved his hand over his head, where two curving horns rose up towards the ceiling. “We all know I can be an ass, but I would never, ever be flippant about that.”

“Don't panic, Azazel,” she replied, trying to force down the hurt. “I know you wouldn’t. It’s my fault for being so sensitive. I mean, it’s been a really long time. I should be over it by now.”

“You have every right to still be upset about that. Hell, I know if it were me I’d be devastated...and I’m making it worse, aren’t I? You know what? Fuck me. I’m an idiot.”

“You certainly are,” Lucifer agreed. 

“Really,” Darcy said, “it’s okay. I’m not the only demon in the underworld who got scalped during the Fall.”

“Well, yeah,” Azazel responded, “but they didn’t get attacked by their own…”

“AZAZEL!” Lucifer grabbed his arm, cutting him off. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“No, but I will absolutely invent somewhere and go there right now, Your Supreme Evilness.” He mouthed _I’m sorry_ to Darcy, and abruptly popped out of existence.

“May I bring you a latte, Your Ladyship?” Forcas, who was back on his feet, asked sympathetically.

“I think that would be helpful, Forcas. Thank you," Lucifer told him, waiting until the Steward left them before saying to Darcy, “Nobody is more sorry about that day than me, Pumpkin. You know that.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I knew what I was doing when I picked sides. Besides, I’ve got the whole thing covered, right?” Darcy smiled bitterly as she touched her headband. “And if it weren’t for you, he would have had my wings, too. I got off easy. Can we maybe not talk about it?”

“Of course. Whatever you need. So, tell me all about the God of Mischief. What made you decide to take him on as a supplicant?” He began strolling towards his throne as they spoke, and she walked along beside him. 

“He just sounded interesting. I wasn’t lying when I said doing your job was boring.” 

Her uncle laughed. “Had I only known that six millennia ago, I could have saved all of us some trouble, eh?”

“I dare you to tell _him_ that,” she said, pointing skywards.

“Sadly, he no longer takes my calls. Something about leading a force of rebel angels against him, and upsetting the status quo.”

“He always was a stickler for order.”

Lucifer shook his head. “You’re telling me. Alright Pumpkin, you’re officially  
relieved from duty. Have fun taking over Asgard. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That’s leaving a lot open to interpretation,” she observed with a grin.

“Precisely why I said it. Off you go.” He nodded towards the doors. She was halfway through them, when he yelled, “Bring me back Odin’s eyepatch, I’ve got a spot for it on my mantel!”

****************************************************************************

Loki had returned to his cell by the time Darcy arrived. She found him sitting with his back propped against a wall, and a book resting on one knee. For a few seconds she just hung back, watching him read. He had a habit of licking his finger before turning a page, and using that same finger to run down the text as he read. There was something sort of mesmerizing about it.

“That’s really bad for your books,” she said, alerting him to her presence.

He didn’t even look up. “Let me guess, in addition to being the Marquess of Hell, you are also the Head Librarian.”

“No. I just like books.”

“Do you?” Loki asked, finally deigning to glance at her over the deep garnet cover of the one in his hand. “Here I spent the past two days consumed by curiosity as to whether or not you enjoyed reading. I can now spend the rest of my days, secure in the knowledge that you ‘like books’. Thank you so much for enlightening me.”

“Oooookay. So clearly I came at a bad time.” She flexed her fingers and a sparkly silver smartphone appeared in her palm. “If you’ll just let me know the times during the day when you aren’t being a dick, I’ll see what works for me and reschedule.”

She expected him to snap back at her, or possibly even throw his book at her head. In fact, she was ready for it. 

Instead Loki closed his eyes for a moment, exhaled loudly, and then said, “Forgive me. I have had a trying morning, and it hasn’t put me in the best frame of mind.”

“Oh yeah?” She pocketed the phone, and sat down on his cot, spreading her wings out so they had enough room. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Look, we’re trying to take over an entire realm. Whatever happened today is distracting you, and we can’t afford that, so out with it.”

“I do not see how…” he began.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy interjected, “but I can’t hear you over the sound of me not letting you use my armies, because you refuse to let go of some emotional baggage and focus.”

Surprise, surprise, she suddenly commanded Loki's full attention. “You have an army?”

“No. I have _armies_. Plural. Thirty-thousand to be exact.” She leaned back on her palms and smirked. “You can close your mouth now.” 

For a moment they just regarded each other. Darcy wondered what was going on in his mind. Aside from his slip up a moment ago, Loki had an impressive poker face. He also had great bone structure and beautiful eyes, something that she was immediately annoyed at herself for noticing. This was business, not pleasure. And anyway, look what her last little foray into pleasure had turned into. A waterfront community was currently buried in three feet of fish .

“Fine,” he said without warning. “I discovered that the Allfather has erased me from all historical, and family records. It is as if I never existed. In time no one will remember I ever did. What a disappointment I must be.”

“Ah. Daddy issues. I should have known.”

“I hardly think my fury at being left to rot in a cell for the rest of my natural life after doing nothing more than what Odin, or my ass of a brother have done themselves, can be described as mere daddy issues.”

“Uhuh. Right. Okay then, why’d you do it? Why try to eradicate the Jötunns? Why the failed attempt to take over Earth? It seems to me you had a good thing going here. Thor might have been next in line for the throne, but as a Prince of Asgard, you had it made. Why not just enjoy your status?” She shook her head. “I think you wanted to impress daddy. At first because you really wanted his approval, and now? You still want to impress him, but not so he’s proud of you. Nope. You want him to be forced to admit that you’ve won. It’s pretty classic, actually.”

“And just what would you know about it?” he inquired icily

“Plenty. My father is the angel Gabriel. I’ll give you three guesses as to how thrilled he is that I ended up commanding the armies of Hell for his not-so-prodigal brother.”

“Your father is an Archangel?” Loki looked her over, from converse hightops to the inky tips of her wings. “What made you choose Lucifer?”

“Eh. I was never what you’d call angelic,” she replied with a shrug. “For whatever reason, I just wasn't content with blindly accepting that it was my job to be obedient because that’s just how things were done. I wanted independence, autonomy, what the christians like to call free will. Even so, when Uncle Lucie started his little rebellion, I had no intention of joining. Taking on the big guy was a huge risk, but as things progressed, I started to wonder about all the stuff the Morning Star was saying. We lived in a world with so many rules. None of our choices were really ours. He thought they should be. In the end there was this big fight, and midway through I switched sides.”

His eyebrows rose up appraisingly. “I take it Gabriel was not fond of your decision?”

“Are you kidding? My father was enraged. He led his own troops against me, and when I refused to engage him in battle, he…” Darcy’s hand fluttered self-consciously in the direction of her headband before she caught herself, and returned it firmly to her lap. “Let’s just say he did things a parent/child bond can’t come back from. After that he disowned me. So, I know all about not existing. I haven’t existed for my dad in six thousand years. Anyway, that’s my story, and I already know yours. So unless you’ve earmarked the entire afternoon for brooding, I suggest we get started on making plans.”

Loki must have decided against the brooding, because they spent the rest of the afternoon devising a strategy. By the end of it, they were both kneeling on the floor over a large hand-drawn map that he had made, arguing over troop placement.

“You do not understand,” he was saying. “If we place a contingent here, they run the risk of being ambushed.”

“Only if they were in boats, which they won’t be. You keep forgetting the fact that my people have wings. That means we always have the advantage of high ground. Plus I’ve got like...I don’t know, two hundred airborne troops on dragons that I could use if I really wanted.”

“You ride into battle on dragons?”

“Sometimes. They’re mostly just for the intimidation factor. Dragons are hella temperamental. It took me forever to get Pickles properly trained, and I still only use her when I’m trying to psych out the enemy.”

He looked up, quill forgotten between his fingers. “Pickles? You have named your dragon… _Pickles_?”

“Um yeah. What else was going to call her? Want to see a picture?” Darcy pulled her phone out of her pocket, and quickly scrolled to the photos. “Okay, here she is hanging out in her cave…” She flipped through a few more. “...and there she is getting a bath. Look at all her cute little heads sticking out of the water. At first I was going to name them all individually, but eight seemed like a lot to remember, so in the end I stuck with Pickles.”

“I do not know what to say,” he told her, lips curving up in what looked like a cross between disbelief and amusement. “You have named one of the dragons of the christian apocalypse after a Midgardian condiment.”

“That’s nothing. Azazel calls his ‘The Notorious DIB’. It stands for Dragonfire Imminent, Bitches. Although I seriously have no idea why my uncle ever thought it was safe to give him a pet. He can barely handle the responsibility of microwaving a bag of popcorn half the time.” She rolled her eyes. “One time he set Hell on fire. I’m just going to pause a second, so that can sink in. He set _Hell_ on fire. Do you realize how impossible that is? He’s mostly useless, but I still totally love him anyway.”

“I thought you said you had an arrangement with Abaddon?” Loki inquired. “Do you also have one with Azazel?”

“Wow. I don’t even know where to start there. Azazel and I are just friends. I adore him, but he will jump anything that moves. That’s not exactly what I’m looking for in a boyfriend. And the Abaddon thing is over. Not that it’s any of your business, really. We just don’t tend to work out in the longterm. He wants one thing, and I want another. It’s that simple.”

“Abaddon wishes for commitment, and you do not,” he surmised. 

Her wings lifted nonchalantly. “Not with him.”

“Hm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What?” One of his eyebrows rose up in question.

“That little noise you just made,” she said.

“I was merely acknowledging your statement,” Loki replied. 

Darcy narrowed her eyes at him. “You know I can read your mind if I want, right?”

“I am trusting you not to.”

“You’re trusting a demon?” she snorted.

“I might point out that _you_ are trusting the God of Mischief,” he said. “Perhaps we should just consider it honor among thieves.”

“That actually makes sense in a really warped way.” Darcy took the pen from his hand and drew a new set of circles above the ones he had made. “I’m still not solid on this quadrant over here. What is this? A forest? Is it too dense to get troops through?”

He bent his head over the map, long black hair spilling over his shoulders. “It might be best to travel around it. There is an unused system of roads over here that lead straight to the palace.”

“Perfect.” She sat back on her heels and smiled at him. “We’re totally going to win. I’m looking at the next King of Asgard.”

Loki met her gaze and held it. “I am counting on it, Demon.”

“Oooh, mama loves it when you talk dirty,” she teased. “Now, get back to work.”

It was crazy late before Darcy finally got back to her sumptuous apartments in Hell. She burned her clothes off on the way to the bedroom, little sparks of cinder and ash creating a trail behind her. By the time her head hit the pillow, she was already half asleep, dreams flowing over her in swirling eddies of black and green


	3. Slumber Party of the Damned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azazel makes an observation over pizza, and Darcy takes a losing bet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was flailing over this chapter until I had a little pep talk from Anniemar. Thank you, lady, you rock. :D
> 
> Darcy is dreaming in the first part of this chapter, hence the italics. I hope that makes sense. Also the bird thing is actual historic Decarabia canon. Although why a demon would want to turn into a bird is beyond me, but whatever. I'm not gonna argue.
> 
> *********************************************************************

_Pain. So much pain. Pain, and fear, and a light so blinding that Darcy's eyes stung from it even closed. Forced to her knees. Begging for her life._

_“Father, please, don’t do this!”_

_“How dare you call me that. You ceased to be my daughter the moment you chose to follow the Morning Star,” Gabriel hissed._

_“Please. I’m sorry. I’ll come home. I’ll beg His forgiveness. It was mistake. I just wanted to be free, is that so terrible?" she asked, hoping against hope that her contrite tone might inspire some mercy in father._

_Hands gripped her wings one on either side, fingers biting into the delicate flesh and bone. Darcy winced, eyes opening enough to see what had been her horns, now torn off and half-drowned in a puddle of blood. The same blood that was running down her face, and dripping from her hair._

_“You have no place speaking of Him, demon. You have no place now at all. Not here, not as my child, not as anything but an error I once made that is better forgotten.”_

_His words cut more deeply than anything else could have. She’d spent her entire existence trying to measure up. To please Gabriel. Nothing was enough. Tears joined the blood on her cheeks. “Daddy, please. Please. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll find a way to fix it,” her voice came out as a broken whisper. “Help me.”_

_In one sharp movement, Gabriel pulled her wings together behind her back, holding them fast in one hand. Then he pulled the flaming sword from its sheath at his hip, preparing to strike them off. “Help you? No, Decarabia. I would rather see you dead, than bear the shame of your actions this day for the rest of eternity.”_

_The sword rose up. She watched in terror as it reached the top of its arc, and began descending. “No! Please!!!! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”_

Darcy woke up screaming in a bed full of flames. For a moment she was completely disoriented. Where was Gabriel? Where was he??? She jumped up in a complete panic, wings spread wide in fear. 

A loud pounding sound from downstairs snapped her back into reality. With a wave of her hand, she extinguished her bed, and conjured up some clothes so she could answer the door. 

“Yo! Screeching Beauty! You awake in there? I could hear you all the way down the block.” Zaze had apparently let himself in. He entered her bedroom, took one look at the billows of smoke still rising from her smoldering mattress, and said, “The dream again?”

She nodded, furiously swiping at her eyes. “I hate him. I hate him so much. What kind of shit father wants their child dead rather than forgiven?”

“The same kind that throws a couple of naked humans out into the wilderness because they decided to expand their palates and try a new piece of fruit. Was it Eve’s fault she was a foodie? No. It was not.” Azazel eyed her bed again, and then muttered an incantation. It disappeared in a flash of brimstone. “Sorry, the smell was ruining my aesthetic.”

“Where’d you send it?” Darcy asked.

“Westboro Baptist Church. I love fucking with those assholes. Anyway, pack your bags, Firestarter. You’re staying at my place tonight.

“That’s sweet, Zaze, but I don’t think I could get back to sleep now.”

He flexed his wings negligently. “So don’t sleep. We’ll watch a movie. Have you seen This Is the End?”

Darcy shook her head. “Nope.”

“Don’t. It’s terrible. We’ll watch something else instead. I’ll make popcorn,” Azazel offered. “Come on. How can you resist this face? Hm? You know you can’t. No one can.”

“Fine, but I’m making the popcorn.”

“If you think I don’t know what you’re alluding to, you’re dead wrong. And anyway, I’ll have you know, my little culinary inferno was intentional. I was testing out the new sprinkler system.”

“We didn't have a sprinkler system,” she pointed out.

“Well we do now,” Azazel replied. “See? I did everyone a favor.”

She cocked her head at him. “You know, there are times when I think you actually believe your own hype.”

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I? Just look at me.” He held his arms out, showing off his body in its dove grey suit.

“Azazel?”

“Yes, my post-angelic princess?”

“Shut up, and help me pack my stuff.”

A short time later she was ensconced on the enormous sectional in his media room, drinking a glass of champagne and eating a slice of Hawaiian pizza. They’d ended up deciding against popcorn. Mostly because he’d forgotten to replace his microwave after the last time, and it was a half-melted wreck of metal and plastic taking up two thirds of his countertop .

“So, what should we watch?” Azazel asked, picking up a remote control that looked like a touch-screen version of a space shuttle control panel. “We’ve got movies, TV, real-time natural disasters...they’re still cleaning those fish up. Want to watch that?”

“No thanks,” Darcy said, making a face.

“Oooh, someone’s testy about the ex.” He slid onto the couch next to her, and draped his wings over the back. 

“I’m not testy,” she retorted. “I just don’t want to think about him right now.”

Azazel tipped his Ray-Bans, looking at her over the frames. “On a scale of Matthew McConaughey to Anna Wintour, you’re Katherine Heigl.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, Zaze.”

“Or does it make _too_ much sense?”

She dropped her face into to her hands and groaned. “Tell me why we’re friends again?”

“Three words: my stone-cold swagger. Three more words: pass the pizza. You’ve eaten half the box and I haven’t even gotten any.” 

“Technically I think stone-cold is two words,” Darcy said, handing him the pizza box.

“Not with a hyphen it’s not. And since when did you start caring about my grammar, Algernon?”

“Shhhh.” She flapped both hands at him in warning. “If he shows up, I’m blaming you.”

“If he shows up, we’re not answering the door.”

“Deal.” Darcy stretched, feathers rustling against suede. “I can’t believe you’re letting me eat on this couch.”

“Eh. For you it’s expendable,” Azazel said as he folded his pizza in half and took a bite.

“Like the microwave?”

“Do you want me to revoke your eating on the couch privileges? Because I will do it. Do not provoke me.”

She wriggled over until her head was resting against his shoulder. “I love you, Azazel.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, unable to contain his smile. “So, if you don’t want to watch the ex, should we check in on your boy?”

“Loki? Sure. He’s probably sleeping, though.”

Azazel pressed a button on the remote, and the giant screen on the wall opposite flickered to life. “He doesn’t look asleep to me.”

Loki was sitting up in his cot with a large book balanced on one knee. It was ostentatious like all his belongings, bound in leather with gold accents. He was holding it steady in one hand, and making swift, precise movements with a charcoal stick in other. 

“Is he drawing something?” Darcy asked, leaning forward to see better.

“Looks like it. Want me to change the angle?” Azazel pushed another button and the scene changed so they were behind Loki looking down on his sketchbook. The sketchbook where he was working on an extremely detailed portrait of Darcy. “Well, well, well. Looks like someone made an impression, hm?”

She didn’t answer. Her attention was riveted to the screen where Loki was meticulously shading in the individual feathers in her wings. His long, elegant fingers swept over the upraised arcs, creating spaces of shadow and light.

“He’s got your face down. Although I haven’t seen you smiling like that in a long time. Like six-thousand years worth of a long time. Just what is going on between the two of you?” Her friend asked, poking her in the ribs. 

“Nothing,” Darcy replied absently. “We mostly just talk about taking over Asgard. Are those my Converse? Look at that. He got the emblems right and everything.”

“Converse? Are you not hearing me? Look. At. Your. Face. You know, the space below your headband and above your neck? And while we’re on that, he did a decent job on the cat-ears too.”

Her hand automatically reached up to assure they were present on her head. “Yeah he did, didn’t he. Why do you think he’s drawing me? Is it creepy kind of creepy? I should find it kind of creepy, right? Why am I more intrigued than creeped out right now?”

“You own his soul,” Azazel said with a shrug. “That kind of thing will make a guy fixate.”

“Oh yeah. That’s probably all it is. I wasn’t even thinking of that.” Darcy tried not to feel disappointed.

“You know what would go well with those leather slippers he’s wearing? A sick-ass cravat. I should lend him one of mine. Also, you are so full of shit right now. You like that he’s drawing you. Just admit it.”

“What? Noooo.” She drew the word out while putting another piece of pizza onto Azazel’s plate in an effort to distract him. “I swore off men this last time with Abaddon, and even if I hadn’t, Loki is like...my client. I can’t hook up with clients.”

Azazel propped his sunglasses up on top of his head. “And what, you’ve suddenly got something against mixing business and pleasure? Look around you, boo, we’re not exactly big on rules down here. Isn’t he a shapeshifter, though?”

“I think so. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, you just said you swore off men. Technically, Loki could probably get around that. Which brings me to my next point, if things get kinky, you’re gonna let me watch, right?”

“No. Absolutely not,” Darcy declared.

“You just admitted that things could get kinky though,” he said with a grin.

“Pretty sure I didn’t,” she replied.

“Uh, yeah you did, beautiful.”

“Azazel.”

“Shhh, shhhh,” he hushed, pulling her into his chest, and stroking her hair. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

“You are such a fucking weirdo,” Darcy mumbled against the crisp cotton of his shirt. “Is this a new oxford? I don’t remember it.”

“Why yes it is, and I’m a little hurt that you didn’t notice sooner.” He released her and sat back. “What’s the point of me buying things if no one comments on them? Hm?” 

“It must be so strenuous looking fabulous all the time,” she said dryly. 

“Thank you,” Azazel said, plucking the shirt away from his chest for a second and nodding his head. “It’s about time I got some credit. A wardrobe like this doesn’t build itself. Some people think it’s mere labels, but it’s really my blood, sweat, and tears in that walk-in. I mean, did you even notice my loafers? Look at that Italian leather. Did you know the cow who donated that leather was fed a steady diet of organic grains mixed with 24k gold flake?”

“I’m sorry, did you just say the cow _donated_ the leather? You do know how leather works, right?”

“I can’t hear you right now. I’m too busy admiring my wrinkle-free linen suit. Did you even see my pocket square?”

Darcy watched him preen for a second before just shaking her her head and giving up. She turned her attention back to the flatscreen, where Loki was deepening the crease at the corner of her mouth, turning her smile into something puckish and elusive. Zaze was right. The girl in the God of Mischief's sketchbook was one she hadn’t seen since she had halo instead of horns. Not that she’d had the horns for long. The memories that had fueled her nightmare from earlier rushed back with a vengeance.

“Stop thinking about Gabriel,” Zaze demanded, invading her thoughts and shaking her out of them. “I brought you here to escape that shit, not to dwell on it.” He held his arm out, and patted his shoulder with the other hand. “Come on. Let Azazel the Irresistible take care of you.”

She snuggled up against his shoulder with a sigh, and he held up his pizza for her to take a bite. “I’ve thanked you for that day, right?”

“Constantly. Even though I keep telling you that it’s unnecessary. There was no way I was letting my best girl get de-winged. Anyway, all I did was distract Gabriel long enough for your uncle to get there. He did all the major rescuing.”

“Azazel, you got between me and my dad and used your own wings to shield me until reinforcements arrived. That’s not a little thing.”

“Alright. You wore me down. I’m awesome, ” he said. “Now, what are you going to do about your smitten supplicant?”

Darcy snorted. “He’s not smitten.”

“Whatever you say, D, but you should know right here, right now, that I ship it. Want my last piece of pineapple?” She opened her mouth, and he dropped it in. “I like this. It’s like feeding a baby bird. Hey, have you shown him that yet?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno, maybe because it’s not really something that comes up when you’re discussing waging war against someone’s adoptive parents so you can take over their country,” she explained. “It would be strange for me to just be like, ‘Guess what, I know we're devising strategy and shit, but I have this weird party trick where I turn into a bird. Yay!’, you know?”

“Well, you’d probably want to be smoother about it. Look at me. I’m hella smooth. Ladies are always like, ‘Ooh, Azazel, you’re so smooth. You’re like man-silk.’ Like fine silk woven into the form of a man,” he clarified, popping his collar with a flourish.

“I’m back to wondering how we’re friends,” she said.

“You said it yourself, I saved your wings.”

Darcy smiled at him. “Yes you did, and I love you for it. Zaze? If I fall asleep, would you mind...”

“Keeping an eye on you just in case the nightmare comes back?” he finished for her. “You know it, boo.”

“Thanks.”

He kissed her forehead. “Don’t mention it. I’ll be your DiSA. That stands for Demon in Shining Armor. Except I’m wearing a suit. Which is made of wrinkle-free linen. Did you catch that earlier? Wrinkle. Free. I invented it myself.”

“You’re a genius.” She curled her legs up under her, and relaxed her wings.

“I know.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Eat pizza by yourself in a charred bed?”

Darcy yawned. “Probably.”

“Probably my ass,” he scoffed. “You know I’m right.”

She didn’t answer, just yawned again and closed her eyes.

***********************************************************************************

The next morning Darcy woke up in one of Azazel's spare rooms. Judging by the racket going on in the kitchen, he was trying to cook something. She decided to get up before he managed to set Hell on fire a second time. Getting to her feet, she stretched her arms and wings above her head before heading into the kitchen.

“Good morning sunshine!” he said with a smile, sifting what looked like powdered sugar over a blackened square that she could only guess had once been French toast. “Breakfast?”

Darcy stared at the brick of sugary charcoal he was holding out. “Um…”

“Kidding, kidding,” he said, flipping up the top of a stainless steel garbage can and dumping the entire plate inside. “Don’t panic, Darceline. There’s leftover pizza in the fridge. You should have seen your face, though.”

“You ordered more pizza after I fell asleep?”

“No, I ordered an extra pie so we could eat it cold the next day. You know, someone ought to invent a place that just serves cold pizza.”

“Let me guess, that someone is going to be you,” she said, pulling the spare box out of his giant fridge and setting it on the center island.

“Nah. I don’t want to spread myself too thin. Gotta keep them wanting more, right? So, will you be visiting your ‘client’ today?” Azazel asked, making air quotes with his fingers.

She made a face at him. “Don’t start. He’s work. That’s all.”

“Work that you were moaning about in your sleep,” he said smugly. “I’m gonna make a bet with you right now, right here in this kitchen. If the two of you aren’t banging by the end of the week, I’ll give you my limited edition copy of Clueless signed by Sylvester Stallone.”

“I still don’t understand why you bought that. It doesn’t even make sense.”

“Because it’s one of a kind,” Azazel replied, “and one of a kind is priceless. How many people have a copy of Clueless signed by Sylvester Stallone? Tell me that, hm? Oh, that’s right. Just one, because I’ve got the only copy.”

“You realize your logic is insane, right? For a thing to be priceless, there has to be a _demand_ for it. There’s only one copy of Clueless signed by him, because nobody except you would ever want one.” Darcy got two glasses out of the cupboard, and made them each a mimosa. “But I’ll take the bet, because it’s the principle of the thing, and I’m totally going to win.” 

“By ‘win’ you mean lose, right? Because you’re going to lose.”

She finished her pizza, gulped her mimosa, and rolled her eyes at him. “Thank you for last night. And for breakfast. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Like bang the God of Mischief?” he inquired, sipping his own mimosa with the air of a man who was confident that he was going to win. 

“Bye Azazel,” Darcy said firmly, letting herself out and closing the door before he could respond.

The whole time she was getting ready to go to Asgard she kept telling herself that Azazel was nuts and she was absolutely not, under any circumstances, interested in Loki. Even if he had drawn a really beautiful picture of her that kinda captured her soul, and then she'd had a completely inappropriate dream about him which Azazel had apparently overheard. In fact, she should probably be freaked out by that. 

Darcy wasn’t freaked out, though, and the fact that she wasn’t _did_ freak her out. If she’d learned anything from the Abaddon situation, it was that she didn’t need another bad boy notch on her bedpost. Also, she needed to get a new bed, preferably one that was fireproof this time.

Anyway, she was not going to sleep with the God of Mischief, and that was that. They would take over Asgard, shake hands, and be done with it until it was time for her to claim his soul. Simple. Easy. Smart. Her mind drifted back to the image of him adding the finishing touches to her smile. Azazel was full of crap. A cravat would look terrible on Loki. Besides it would hide his neck, and he had a really great neck. All graceful, and manly, and she really needed to get a grip because this line of thinking was going to lose her a bet.

Creating a set of cat-ears to match the green dress which she was totally not wearing for Loki, Darcy took a final look in the mirror, and transported herself to Asgard.


	4. Black Kettles and Glass Houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up on Asgard...and probably will get hotter in hell, but that's the next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out. I had all kinds of family obligations, and I've been making things for my son's kindergarten class, AND there was no school this week due to snow. So needless to say, it's been busy around here. 
> 
> Once again, I need to thank the awesome, and talented anniemar. She was immeasurably helpful with this chapter. 
> 
> Also, if you left me a review, and I haven't responded, I apologize. AO3 is being really difficult with that right now. My responses are getting lost, or never going through, or timing out. So, so, sorry. I appreciate every single review, and I hope this gets cleared up soon. :P
> 
> ********************************************************

Loki stretched out on the cot in his cell, arms folded behind his head, and eyes on the ceiling. He’d spent the entire night sketching that irritating she-demon instead of working to secure his place as King of Asgard. It was beyond irritating. Why did she have such a hold on his mind?

He glared at the innocent sketchbook sitting on the floor nearby as if it were the root of all his mental turmoil. It was an easy scapegoat. Loki knew full well the leather-bound pages were not to blame. 

No.

Darcy was. He resolved to be less informal with her the next time she chose to visit. There was no reason for either of them to discuss anything but the business at hand. The less they knew about each other personally, the better. At any rate, he was tired. Loki rolled over onto his side, and closed his eyes. If she did decide to visit, she would just have to wait until he woke up.

**********************************************

Not more than fifteen minutes after he’d gone to sleep, Darcy arrived in his cell. She dropped out of the air with a whoosh of wings, landing almost silently on the white, marble floor. Her attention was immediately drawn to the slumbering demi-god in the bed. Loki had his back to her, his hair spilling onto the pillow in a riot of loose waves. She’d never seen it like that before. He obviously did something to tame it when he was awake.

Tiptoeing across the room, she leaned over him so she could see his face. Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh. That was _such_ a bad idea. Loki was pretty when he was awake, although he tended to mar it by speaking, but Loki sleeping? That was a whole other kind of pretty. All the bitter lines on his face were smoothed out, the guarded expression he usually wore was replaced with a sweet, dreaming smile, and he looked ten years younger at least. 

Yeah. She should go and let him sleep. No good could come of standing there watching him. It was a terrible idea. A terrible idea that she promptly compounded further by gently brushing a stray tendril of hair off his forehead.

Fuuuuuuuck. What was she thinking? Darcy swallowed thickly as her gaze began to travel from his face down the long, lean lines of his body. He was dressed in so much less than she was used to. Just a pair of what looked like black linen pants, and a soft, olive green shirt, unlaced at the collar. One of the loose sleeves was pushed halfway to his elbow, exposing a length of muscular forearm. There was a freckle on his wrist, and his hand was loosely curled on the mattress, fingers still showing traces of the charcoal he’d used to draw her.

Darcy wanted to touch that freckle. Truthfully, she wanted to lick it. And the one up at the base of his throat. She _definitely_ wanted to lick that one. Of course, if she thought staring at him was a bad idea, licking him had to be the worst idea she’d ever had. She groaned internally. 

Stupid Azazel, and his stupid bet, and his stupid ability to point out how she didn’t know her own mind as well as he did. She was totally going to lose that bet. Not that she wanted that ridiculous copy of Clueless or anything. It was her pride she was trying to hold onto at this point. Pride that seemed really unimportant compared to the way Loki had just licked his lips and left them parted, slight puffs of air escaping them with every breath. 

Oh, she so, _so_ needed to leave. And she was going to, right after she covered him up with a blanket, because really, wasn’t that the polite thing to do? He might be cold. Darcy stealthily pinched the edge of the blanket folded at the end of the bed between her fingers, and began drawing it up over Loki’s body.

She’d barely gotten it to his knees when he woke with a start. Brilliant emerald eyes opened wide in defense, and she found herself grasped by the shoulder and hip, and flipped flat on her back with him on top of her.

“Ow, ow, wings! WINGS! You can’t pin them under me! They don’t bend like that!”

Loki’s face was inches from hers, brows knitted together in confusion, but lips pulled back in a snarl. It seemed like he was still waking up. He definitely didn’t recognize her yet, although he'd had enough presence of mind to switch his clothes from pajamas to armor. Armor which was digging into her uncomfortably.

“Loki. You are breaking. My. Wings. I don’t want to flame up, but if you don’t get your weight off them, I’m going to do it. So please, take your knee out of my ribs, because I don’t want to hurt you,” Darcy told him, wincing in pain.

“What were you doing?” he demanded, shifting his weight off of her.

“Covering your dumb ass with a blanket,” she retorted. “Do you normally attack people for that?”

He took one of her her hands in his, and pulling her up with him as he stood. “Why?”

“Why what?” she asked, shaking out her offended wings and checking them for damage.

“Why cover me?” Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Were you watching me sleep?”

“No, because that would make me a pervy creeper, which I’m not. I just got here, found you sleeping, and was trying to be nice.” 

It was a blatant lie. Darcy could only hope that he bought it. 

“Are your wings injured?” he inquired, gesturing at them. 

She pushed them out to their full length, moving them experimentally a few times. “Not permanently. I just can’t have them folded up behind my back like that. They get crushed.”

“You cannot rest on your back?” He looked at her wings curiously.

“Oh, no. I can. I just have to spread them out, like this” Darcy demonstrated, fanning them out to the sides, and making them flat. “It’s just not exactly convenient for sleeping, and it hurts if you put whole lot of weight on them. They’re more delicate than they look.”

Loki took a step closer and reached out, fingers stopping just shy of her longest feathers, a few of which were still ruffled. “May I?”

She glanced at his outstretched hand nervously, not sure how to answer. There was no way he knew what he was asking. Both demonic and angelic culture had a serious etiquette when it came to wings. It would have been like her asking to run her fingers through his hair only more intimate. You just didn’t do it unless you were really familiar with the person, and even then, it was a definite sign of affection. Even Azazel didn’t touch her wings without a specific reason.

“Um…”

“You would rather I didn’t,” he surmised, dropping his hand.

“It’s not that,” Darcy replied. She chewed her lip for a moment, trying to decide. It was a little hypocritical of her to say no after she’d pretty much eye-fucked him earlier...and touched him without permission. Besides, the real problem was that she _wanted_ him to touch her wings. Oh, she was so screwed. “Can I just maybe show you how to do it first? They’re sensitive, and it feels awful when someone does it wrong.”

Loki nodded, and she took his hand, bringing it up to the highest point of her wings.

“Okay, so here’s the thing,” she said, “See how the feathers sort of flow down from this point? Never go against that. Just start at the bend and go downwards to the tips of the flight feathers.”

His palm slowly stroked over the edge of her wing. The sensations it left in its wake had Darcy fighting to keep her eyes from sliding closed. This… _this_ was why there were such strict rules about the whole thing. It was almost impossible to keep a touch like that from being sexually charged. He reached the spot where the feathers were out of place, and gingerly finger-combed them flat again. Darcy shivered all over in response. 

“Have I hurt you?” Loki asked, pulling his hand away. 

“No, it felt good,” she responded without thinking. Then her brain caught up with her words, and she could feel a hot flush wash over her skin. 

“Good?” He brushed the full length of her wing with his knuckles. “And that?”

Darcy abruptly pulled both her wings behind her back. “Also good. You know what? Maybe we should concentrate on taking over Asgard, and leave my wings out of it.”

“Of course.” 

Loki’s gaze was now fixed on her lips. That made her look at his lips. They were on the thin side, but quirking up into this sexy sort of smirk, and it would probably be a very good idea if she stopped staring at them wondering what they felt like. 

“Or um...or we could get out of here. Get some fresh air,” she said hurriedly. “Looking at a map is one thing, actually seeing the terrain is another.”

“You have a point. What area would you like to see?” He turned to get the map, and the moment was broken just like that.

She was relieved. Or at least that’s what Darcy told herself. Relief suddenly felt an awful lot like frustration.

“What about that bunch of statue things over by the waterfall?” she asked. “Why don’t we scope those out?” 

“Thor’s great-grandfathers?” Loki’s face telegraphed disdain. “It is as good a place as any to start I suppose. Shall I teleport us there?”

“You want to be in charge of transportation?” she asked, looking doubtfully at him. “Can you move more than just yourself?”

His eyes narrowed at her condescendingly. “I assure you, demon, I am more than capable of shifting us both through the ether. If you would rather travel by yourself that is up to you, but I have the advantage of already knowing the way.”

“Fine. Whatever. Do the thing,” Darcy said, holding her hand out to him.

“Your manners are truly enchanting,” he remarked dryly. 

“I hardly think the guy who once threw Tony Stark out of the window of his own penthouse gets to comment on my manners. Now, make with the teleportation. I don’t have all day.”

Yeah. That moment was long gone. In fact, Darcy was starting to think she’d imagined the whole thing. Loki took her hand as if it were made of live piranhas, and seconds later they arrived on the shoulder of one of the great statues. 

“Are your concerns regarding my abilities quelled?” he inquired, releasing her hand.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, we’re good. So, this is what...near the entrance to all that water? And there’s the bridge…” She paused to take in the rest of the landscape. “This is actually a good place to bring my armies in. They’d be hidden by the statues. If we stationed some here, and then had other overtake the...what’s that thing again?”

“Heimdall’s Observatory,” Loki answered.

“Yeah. That. So some here. Some there.” She pointed as she spoke. “Some behind the palace. We need to do this at night. It would really give us an advantage because demons can see in the dark.”

“As can Frost Giants.” He stared off into the distance, frowning slightly.

“You can? That’s helpful. You know, we could always take over Jötunheim instead. Technically you’re their rightful ruler, patricide notwithstanding.”

“Our bargain is Asgard,” Loki responded. “I have no wish to set foot in Jötunheim again.”

For a moment she just stared at him, and then she said, “Have you ever considered counseling? You clearly have some unresolved issues.”

“Do I? What about you and your little homage to felines?” He gestured at her headband. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, refusing to allow herself to adjust the ears. “I just like headbands. That’s all.”

“You do realize that I have a particular talent for recognizing lies, yes?”

She sighed. “Fine. You caught me. However, in my defense I never said I didn’t have issues. You know that I do, but unlike you, I’ve tried to work through them.”

“Has it helped?” He eyed the cat-ears again pointedly.

A corner of Darcy’s mouth tucked up in a lopsided expression of acquiescence. “Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. It’s a process. At least it gives me a little insight into why you hate Odin so much. I know firsthand what complete shits fathers can be.”

“Your father cut your horns off?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, eyes steady on his. “He held me down and ripped them off. Cutting them would have been kind, and Gabriel is more of a disciplinarian than a nurturer.”

“And you wear that to cover it up?”

A feeling of hatred towards Gabriel bubbled up to the surface, flowing through her words. “I wear this, or a hat, or a helmet in battle to hide the fact that my own father damaged me beyond repair. If you saw how bad it was, you’d understand.”

Loki nodded. “What if I say I wish to understand?” 

“What, you want to _see_? Are you serious?” This time Darcy couldn’t stop herself from placing both hands firmly on the headband, holding it in place. 

“You have seen the results of my supposed father’s ire,” he replied. “Our meetings usually take place in a cell.”

“Yeah, but your dad didn’t disfigure you,” she countered. 

“No. He just raised me as lesser than my brother, allowed me to be tortured at the hands of Thanos, denied me my birthright, and then imprisoned me for the rest of my life for doing things he himself has done,” Loki said. “I suppose I should be relieved that disfigurement did not cross Odin’s mind the last time I stood before him. I have no doubt that he would have done so, had he thought of it.”

Darcy hesitated. “You really only want to see because you want to understand?”

“You are asking me to consider letting go of the past. I am asking you the same,” he challenged.

“Oh...I get it. You think I won’t do it,” she guessed. “This isn’t about you understanding me. It’s about me understanding you. My not wanting to take the headband off is the same as you holding onto your anger. Clever. You’re underestimating me, though, Loki. That’s a habit you are going to want to break.” Unflinchingly, she removed the headband and held it out to him. “Here. You want to see what this was hiding? Go ahead. Look. Look at it, and consider the fact that after Gabriel did this, he was going to do the same thing to my wings, and then kill me.”

Despite her confident tone, Darcy braced herself for the worst. She knew all too well what her father had left her with, an ugly, twisted mess of scars and jagged stumps of bone. Loki inhaled sharply when the top of her head was revealed, and had said nothing since. His silence only increased her inner turbulence.

Finally, he very quietly said, “Do they cause you pain?”

Darcy wasn’t expecting so much compassion from him. She blinked, feeling the stinging prickle of tears under her eyelids. “Only all the time.”

“Then,” he said, tipping her chin up with two fingers, “I believe we understand each other after all.”

The kindness, the feeling of his fingers under her chin, it was all too much. The last thing she needed was to let him in. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Loki cocked his head, and she hated herself for immediately thinking that if she just stretched up, the angles of their faces would line up perfectly to kiss him.

“Don’t whatever this is.” Darcy waved her hand between them. “I can’t afford to like you. We need to keep this strictly business.”

He leaned closer to her, eyes traveling to her lips for the second time that day. “I have no intention of making this anything more than business. You are of no interest to me in that way.”

“Good,” she breathed, shifting up onto her toes, and swaying towards him. “I don’t have the hots for you either.”

The hand holding Darcy’s chin up slid under her jaw in a firmer grip.

“This is going to end badly,” Loki told her, close enough now that each word caused his mouth to lightly brush hers.

She closed her fingers around handfuls of his shirt. “Definitely. We should stop.”

“Mmm. Yes. We should.” He flicked his tongue over her bottom lip, and Darcy made a sound that was suspiciously like a moan.

“The thing is,” she murmured, “I’ve never really been good at impulse control. Are you?”

His lips stretched over hers in a smile. “No.”

“Oh thank god.” She yanked on his shirt, erasing the tiny bit of distance between them at the same time Loki started to kiss her with a fierceness that sent jolts of heat all through her body.

It was rough, and imperfect, and glorious. At first they were both too eager, too needy. Angles were a little off, and it wasn’t easy to stay balanced on the statue’s shoulder while otherwise occupied. Then Darcy pushed him up against the thick stone neck, using the leverage to her advantage. He made a low sound of approval that caused her wings to quiver. 

It was around this point that Loki seemed to gain control of himself. His mouth moved against hers with less raw urgency, and more finesse. She moved one hand to wind her fingers in his hair, and he mirrored her, using it to tilt her head back further. Darcy relaxed, letting him do what he wanted. Then he did something with his tongue that had her scrabbling at the front of his pants looking for a way in. He growled, grinding himself against her palm, and it was that movement that shocked her back to earth.

“We can’t,” she mumbled, and her words were met with a muffled protest. Granted, she was still actively rubbing the impressive erection inside his pants, so she could hardly blame him. Reluctantly, Darcy pulled her hand away. “We can’t,” she said again. “It’s not that I don’t want to, because all systems are go, trust me. It’s just that we hardly know each other, and we’re standing on a statue of your great-grandfather…”

“Thor’s great grandfather,” Loki corrected.

“Right. Thor’s great-grandfather, and I would really, really like to get your pants off and potentially scandalize all his granite relatives, but I’m not sure I’m being rational right now. Are you?”

“Am I sure whether you are being rational, or am I sure whether I am being rational?” he asked. “You rarely seem fully rational, and I am the God of Mischief. Although I am capable of sound decisions, I prefer those that incite chaos.”

She grinned. “Having crazy-monkey sex on a giant statue falls under chaos, doesn’t it?”

“Intercourse with a demon on top of a sculpture immortalizing Thor’s great-grandfather does have a certain appeal in that respect,” Loki replied, lips curving up into a grin of his own. “I suspect you are correct, though. It would irrevocably alter our short relationship.”

“You’re still holding onto me,” Darcy pointed out. One of his hands was cupped behind her head, and the other was flattened against her back, between her wings. 

Loki arched an eyebrow at her. “Your hand is back on my pants. Not that I am displeased by it, but you know what they say about people in glass houses.”

“That they shouldn’t call the kettle black?” she asked, removing her hand for the second time. “Dammit. I am going to lose a bet, and it is going to be all your fault. Also, you’ve got a lot going on down there, don’t you? That isn’t making this any easier.”

He made a choking sound that might have been a laugh. “Which sentence would you like a reply to first?”

“Neither,” Darcy said, shaking her head. “One was rhetorical, and the other was just statement of fact phrased as a question. Like Jeopardy. Sort of.” She briefly wondered what Alex Trebek would make of the situation. 

“Jeopardy?” Loki looked over the side of the statue at the lengthy drop to the water below. 

“Not danger Jeopardy, TV Jeopardy. It’s this thing people watch on Earth, and you know what, nevermind. Someday though, remind me to show the best SNL skit ever. Anyway, I’m never bothered by heights, so danger wouldn’t apply here.” She extended her wings. “See?”

“They are beautiful,” he said, admiring the glossy feathers that were flashing with iridescence in the sunlight. “Softer than I imagined, as well.”

Darcy flexed, lifting them so they were high above her head in graceful arcs. “You should have seen them before. It’s weird. There are times when I forget they’re black. I see myself in a mirror, and it takes a second for it all to make sense…to remember what I am.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes. Not enough to want to go back, though. I am who I am. Even if I could go back, I’d have to give up so much. Plus, I can’t help questioning things, so chances are I’d get kicked out again anyway. Do you want to go look at the other entry points, or work on our plans some more?”

He looked curiously at her after her abrupt transition, but didn’t question it. “If that is what you wish.”

It wasn’t. What she really wanted to do was find the largest, most springy mattress in Asgard and ride him around on it, but suggesting that seemed a little inappropriate considering she had just called a halt to sex five minutes earlier. 

She was a demon, though. Appropriate stuff was sort of frowned upon in her profession. “We could always take the rest of the day off, and go to my place instead.”

“You’re inviting me to Hell?” Loki’s face registered surprise.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. We’ve got digital cable, highspeed internet, and sushi.” She shrugged. “Anyway, it would beat trying to strategize a war from a prison cell, right? You could see my troops, meet Pickles. I promise to behave myself ,” Darcy lied, crossing her fingers behind her back.

“And if I choose not to behave myself?” he asked. 

Stepping closer so that they were once again toe to toe, she said, “I’ll risk it.”

“Then, demon, I say yes.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have a name.”

“You do, and I’m sure I’ll find an appropriate time to use it,” Loki informed her smugly.

“This is another bad idea, isn’t it?” Darcy shook her head. 

“That is highly likely. Shall we go?”

“Yeah. Hang on tight, Your Almighty Pain in the Assness. This ride isn’t for beginners.” And with that, Darcy grabbed him around the waist, spread her wings, and dove sideways off the statue and into Hell.


	5. Timing is Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Darcy brings Loki home, and Azazel plays the role of a pheasant. Heheh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!!! Sorry this took so long to post. I was really, really sick last week. My son is in kindergarten and it seems like he catches EVERYTHING and brings it home. We've got the plague here once a month, I swear.
> 
> Anyway, I'm also working on the first chapter of the Captivated sequel, which is slowing me down too, and getting ready to leave on vacation. That means no chapters next week, because I will be in a very sunny, sandy place instead of the frozen Northeast. Hooray! (not hooray no new chapters, but hooray vacation)
> 
> **************************************************************************

Loki was not exactly sure what to make of Hell. He wasn’t sure what to make of Darcy either, for that matter. The confounding she-demon was currently feeding apples to an eight-headed dragon named Pickles _by hand_. He watched as she laughed straight up into one of the sharp-toothed faces, rubbing it on the nose with one hand, while holding a piece fruit with the other. 

Unbelievably, the creature was behaving like an enormous, scaly puppy. It even appeared to be wagging its tail. Loud thumps could be heard at regular intervals, and the ground was shaking in tandem with the beat. Loki had no doubt it could be terrifying if it so wished, though. As if to prove his point, one of the heads lifted up and shot a bright jet of flame at the ceiling.

“Don’t mind her,” Darcy said, sliding her hand up to scratch behind one of Pickles’ ears. “That head has always been kind of a show-off.”

She then began speaking baby talk to the dragon in a cajoling tone. Loki could only shake his head.

“She is much larger than the dragons of Asgard,” he remarked.

Pickles whuffled Darcy’s wings the way a horse would a person’s hair. Laughing, Darcy said, “Yeah, she’s the biggest dragon down here too. That’s why I picked her. She looked like a total beast. Acted like one too, but once we got to know each other, she turned out to be a big softy. Didn’t you? Yes you did! Yes you did, you giant, fire-breathing, iguana!”

The dragon wheeled around excitedly, wings beating in happy arcs. 

Darcy tossed Pickles the remainder of the apple, and turned to him with a bright smile. “So, what do you want to see now? We’ve done armies, the level six torture chambers, Pickles…” She checked them off on her fingers as she spoke. “You haven’t met my uncle. Want to do that? Or we could eat. Are you hungry?” 

Loki considered his options. After an hour spent watching her army of winged demons run drills, and feeding the dragon, he was having trouble maintaining an expression of nonchalance. Finding himself face to face with a far more powerful being had limited appeal. In comparison, lunch sounded rather pleasant. 

“Where do you suggest we eat?” he inquired.

She shrugged. “My place? I’ve got a stocked fridge, and despite being a marquess, I can totally cook. Ever have candied onions, fava beans, and pancetta on a toasted crostini?”

Loki had no idea what she meant. “I have not.”

“Awesome. I love food virgins. They’re so fun to corrupt. My house is this way.” Darcy gestured towards one of the soaring archways dotting the cavern they were in, and began walking. 

“You are operating under quite a misconception if you believe me to be a virgin in any way,” he remarked, falling into step beside her.

Her eyes shifted in Loki’s direction, looking him up and down briefly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Please do,” Loki responded suggestively, and then wondered just exactly when he’d taken leave of his senses enough that he was engaging in a flirtation with the woman who _owned_ his soul. It seemed best to return the subject matter to something less provocative. Admiring the elaborate tilework covering the walls of the corridor around them he asked, “Is all of Hell decorated in such a way?”

“Just the residential district,” she said, pausing for a moment to look at the walls as well. “Although it’s not all tile. We get a lot of artists down here. They tend to be really prone to selling their souls. If they’re talented enough my uncle offers them a job instead of eternity spent in the pits. Nobody has turned it down yet.” 

“I see,” Loki replied. Her casual mention of an eternity lived out in the pits of hell made him slightly uncomfortable. There was the very real possibility that his own future would be spent there unless he could find a way to wriggle out of their contract. 

She glanced over at him. “Thinking of yourself? Don’t worry. If you’re really nice to me, I’ll consider employing you as my personal wing groomer.”

Had she just offered one of the Princes of Asgard eternal employment as a _servant_? “I would rather burn,” he retorted, glaring at her.

“Oh, we’re back to this, then. Fantastic. I can’t think anything I’d rather do than eat lunch with a sullen, hostile, decommissioned God of Mischief.” Darcy rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Crostini with a side of unwarranted attitude. What do I even pair that with? Amarone? It’s pretty bitter too.”

“You have given me the option of eternal incarceration in hell, or the job of a lowly servant. Tell me, was I supposed to rejoice over that?” he snapped.

Darcy stopped short. Her expression of irritation was gone, and it now looked like she was trying to hold back laughter. “Okay, first of all, I’m not the one who sold my soul to a demon so I could play King of Asgard. That was all you. Second of all, ‘wing groomer’ is what’s known down here as an euphemism. Do you have those on Asgard?”

“Of course we have euphemisms on Asgard,” Loki said impatiently. “What we don’t have is wings. Perhaps you would be so kind as to explain yourself.”

“You’re really going to make me spell it out for you?” 

He merely raised an eyebrow and waited. 

“Ooookay, guess so then. Wow.” She shook her head incredulously. “Here’s the thing, wings are sacred. Normally you don’t touch someone’s wings unless you’re really, really close to them. It’s intimate. So when I say ‘wing groomer’ I’m really saying something else. Get it?” 

“Ah.” Loki swallowed thickly. Ah, indeed. Was it any wonder she’d hesitated when he asked to touch her wings earlier? If only he’d been aware of the implications. A strange sort of tension had settled between them since her explanation, and Loki was struck with the sudden urge to stroke his fingers over her silken feathers again, and make his intentions perfectly clear. 

Darcy twitched the wings in question, a soft rustling noise accompanying the disconcerted gesture, and started walking again. “Well, that was hella awkward. What about you? Is there anything in Æsir culture that has the same sort of connotations?”

He thought for a moment, watching the corridor wind down to a turn ahead of them. “I suppose it would be the same as it would for a human.”

“I guess that makes sense. Is it different with Jötunns?”

Normally Loki refused to speak of his true form, but she asked the question with such innocence that he found himself answering before he realized what he was doing. “I have had little experience with it, but my understanding is that the tribal markings on the skin are treated with much the same reverence as your wings.”

“What do they look like?” Darcy inquired, looking up at him curiously. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.”

“They are nothing as lovely as your wings, of that I can assure you. Further than that, I do not wish to speak of my Frost Giant appearance.”

She regarded him quietly for a few seconds, and then said, “Fair enough.”

The fact that she dropped it so easily was surprising to him. He had expected her to press the issue. 

It must have shown on his face, because Darcy smiled, and then said, “You thought I would bug you about it.”

“Considering what I know of your personality, yes.”

“Spend six thousand years being relentlessly pestered about what’s under your headband, and then ask me why I’m okay with you not wanting to talk about your appearance issues.” She shrugged. “Although I feel like I should point out that you’ve never seen me go full demon, and it’s probably way scarier than whatever you’re hiding under that pretty Asgardian exterior. Seriously. The eyes alone are freaky enough to give you nightmares for weeks. We’re talking real horror movie shit. Plus fangs like...this long.” She held up her hand, thumb and forefinger spread apart to indicate the length of her teeth.

“I’m certain you are horrifying,” he responded dryly. 

“I am,” Darcy insisted. 

“Did I disagree? I do not recall disagreeing.” Loki glanced down at her mischieviously. “Truly, Demon, I cannot imagine that you would be anything but awe-inspiring.”

She snorted rather inelegantly. “Stop being an ass. I know just what you’re trying to do, and it’s not happening.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. You think I’m going to get annoyed and bust out the full demon on you just to prove you wrong. Here’s the problem, though. I’m not lying when I say it’s scary. You have no idea how scary, and I’m going to keep it that way. For now at least. Go left. We’re almost there.”

A short walk further through the subterranean tunnels led them to an archway that opened up into the largest cavern Loki had ever seen. The ceiling soared above them to such a height that he could not make out where it ended, and the space inside was wide enough to accommodate what appeared to be a sprawling metropolis. He tried to keep hide his sheer amazement at the sight, but she just grinned and said, “I know. It still gets me sometimes, and I live here.”

They received an array of inquisitive glances as they strolled down the wide boulevard, but the inhabitants merely nodded deferentially to Darcy as they passed. She acknowledged them in a way that gave Loki a full understanding of exactly how high her position was. The residences increased in grandeur until they came to a large iron gate with a surly looking woman standing in front of it. The woman fixed Loki with a stare like a gimlet.

“Hey, Ma,” Darcy greeted her. “How’s guarding the wall going today?”

“It’s going just fine, Your Ladyship,” she responded with a nod, never taking her eyes off of Loki. “You’ve brought your young man with you?"

He couldn’t believe Darcy was tolerating such insolence, but she actually seemed quite friendly with the odd gatekeeper. 

“Oh, he’s not mine,” she replied breezily. “Well, technically I guess he _is_ , ‘cause I sorta own his soul...but we’re not you know…”

“Uhuh,” ‘Ma’ said, sounding completely unconvinced. “I’ll just open the gate for you then, Lady Darcy.”

The gate swung open with a silence that verged on eerie. Before walking through, Darcy conjured a cigar out of thin air and handed it over to the woman. “There you go. I told you I’d bring one back for you, right? Tell the boys I said ‘hi’.”

“I sure will, Your Ladyship.” The rude woman grinned warmly as she accepted the cigar, somehow still managing to glare at Loki at the same time. “You take of yourself now. And if you need me, don’t hesitate to shout.

“You know it,” Darcy replied, flashing her a grin of her own while the gate clanged shut again behind them.

“Boys?” Loki questioned as soon as the woman was enough distance behind them that he believed they would not be overheard.

Darcy nodded. “Yep. Ever hear of the Barker Boys gang? That’s Ma Barker. She’s been my gatekeeper since 1935.”

“You employ a known criminal as a gatekeeper?”

“That’s nothing,” Darcy shrugged. “Bonnie Parker is my chauffeur, and Clyde Barrow works over at Azazel’s as a mechanic. You’d be surprised how nice they are. She uses my kitchen to bake him a blueberry pie once a week. Besides, it’s not like we’re into background checks down here. Our residents are in Hell for a reason.”

It made perfect sense, but Loki still couldn’t help a feeling of protectiveness well up in him as he considered Darcy surrounding herself with thieves and murderers as staff. He immediately shook his head, clearing it of the rash sentimentality. Despite her small stature, Darcy was a formidable demon. Something which she’d proven again and again since they’d met. Loki was still coming to terms with the fact that she could teleport with as much accuracy as he could, and that she’d been able to support their combined weight on the journey to Hell. No, Darcy needed no protection from him or anyone else. 

“Do they enjoy having employment?” he asked. Gravel crunched under his feet with every step, and he found himself admiring the spellwork used to maintain the lush landscape of trees and plants that formed the park around her home. 

“Most of them. Especially when it means they get to go topside. Where do you think Bonnie drives my car?”

He was still pondering this fact, when they turned a corner and her house came into view. Loki wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but a Provencal villa certainly had not been it. However, that’s exactly what Darcy’s residence most resembled. It was two stories of rough-hewn, cream colored stone with terracotta roof tiles, and floor to ceiling windows framed by sage green shutters. Nothing about it bespoke the dwelling place of minion of hell. Dappled sunlight played over a large expanse of lawn, from where Loki could not determine, as they were still underground. She must have done something to address that, though, because all he could see if he looked up was a crystal clear, azure sky. 

“Are you maintaining this entire illusion yourself?” he marveled.

Darcy’s brow furrowed. “Illusion? No. We’re in France. Didn’t I just say that Bonnie worked topside?”

“France? But we have not left Hell. I felt no teleportation.”

“Because we didn’t teleport,” she replied, “but this is definitely France. That’s where my gate leads. Azazel is next door in a New York City high rise. Abaddon lives down the block in Dubai. We’re all like that.”

“Are we truly no longer in Hell?” Loki turned about, looking back towards the gate. “How?”

Darcy bit her lip. “It’s sort of complicated to explain, but I’ll do my best. Just don’t expect the science behind it. That’s not really my thing. Anyway, each gateway is a portal to a different place on Earth, but they’re all connected to the same street back in Hell,” she told him. “That’s why they’re all so heavily guarded. I mean, you didn’t think Ma was there to protect me, right? I can take care of myself. She’s there to keep unauthorized people from sneaking back into Earth. The weird part, or the good part, depending on how you look at it, is that we’re all still neighbors. So if one of us throws a party or whatever, we can still hear it. Like, one time Zaze and I went to this Halloween bash over at Agramon’s where things got kind of loud, and Algernon… He’s that Demon of Grammar guy I told you about before. Remember? Anyway, he showed up all mad. He kept threatening to report us to The Morning Star until Belial basically pointed out that Uncle Lucie was _there_ already as the guest of honor, and that pretty much shut him up.”

“Where does the Demon of Grammar live?” he asked.

“London. He’s actually a member of Parliament.” She made a face. “I feel sorry for England, seriously.”

Loki narrowly avoiding laughing outright at her expression. “I see.” 

“Yeah, sucks for them. Anyway, welcome to my villa. Come on, I’ll show you where the kitchen is. Let me warn you, though, I’m about to blow your mind and your tastebuds...and you know, possibly other things. We'll see how lunch goes and take it from there,” Darcy added casually. 

He could do nothing but gape at her disappearing form as her words left him standing stock-still in the doorway. 

“Are you gonna hang out in my foyer all day, or are we going to eat?” she yelled back, glossy, obsidian wings vanishing through a doorway. 

Loki shut his mouth with an audible click, and left the foyer without a second glance. 

Darcy’s kitchen was a bright, simple room in the back of the house. It had light wood cabinets, sandstone countertops, and opened out onto a limestone terrace framed in by hedge made up of rosemary, creeping thyme, and lavender. 

“Not exactly what you’d expect for a demon, right?” she asked with a smile. “Don’t worry. I’m an oddball. Azazel completely lives up to the reputation of the Fallen. His penthouse in New York is insane. It’s all modern furniture in shades of black and white, creepy surrealist artwork, and mirrors where your reflection moves independently of what you’re doing. And I’m not even going to get into Uncle Lucie’s castle in Romania, because seriously, even I get scared by some of the stuff he’s got there, and I’m the Marquess of Hell.”

Loki watched as she lifted a large sauté pan down from a rack above her head, and set it on one of the gas burners. Then she walked into a pantry across the room and came back with an onion, which she began to slice.

“Why do you not use magic?” he asked as she melted butter in the pan, tipping it to ensure the entire surface was coated.

Darcy shrugged her wings. “I don’t know. I could, I guess. It’s just more fun to do it myself. Isn’t there something that you do manually just because you like to do it?”

“I suppose,” Loki replied, thinking of his sketches. 

“Well then, you understand. Will you grab the pancetta? It’s over in the fridge.” She pointed to what looked like an oversized set of cabinet doors opposite them, before heading back into the pantry.

They met back at the counter, and a short time later she’d assembled a tray of open-faced sandwiches on crusty bread, various types of olives, sundried tomatoes, and a small bowl of chocolate covered figs. 

“I need to get the wine,” Darcy said. “Can you take this outside while I run down to the cellar? I’ll only be a minute. Try not to get into any trouble without me.”

Loki teleported out with the heavy laden tray, and set it on the table he found there. He barely had time to pull a chair out for himself when she appeared before him in a brilliant flash, two wine glasses held in one hand, and a bottle of pale gold liquid in the other. 

“This should probably be chianti,” she remarked, as she poured a liberal amount of champagne into each of their glasses, “but I won’t tell the Italians if you don’t.”

He took a sip. “I won’t inform Italy of your culinary misstep.”

“Good.” Darcy picked her own glass up, tipping it at him before she said, “You have no idea what I’m talking about though, do you?”

“Not remotely, but as you speak nonsense most of the time, I have learned to accept it as a matter of course,” Loki replied. He reached for one of the sandwiches and took a bite. The flavors exploded across his palate, unlike anything he’d ever had before. It was beyond delicious.

She winked at him, and took a sandwich of her own. “I told you. Tastebuds blown, right? Damn, I’m awesome. You know what they say, though. An angel in the kitchen and a devil in the bedroom.”

Loki choked on his pancetta. 

Darcy gave him a sharp whack between his shoulderblades, and poured him more champagne. “Oh my god, try not to die in my backyard. We haven’t taken over Asgard yet.”

“I am considering taking you on this table,” he responded.

“Not while you’re still coughing,” she said. “Besides, we aren’t done eating. Finish your sandwich, then you can fuck me on whatever surface you want. Actually, you can fuck me on whatever surface except a bed. Mine is currently serving as a decorative charcoal briquette at this church in Kansas.”

“Do you always speak so frankly of coupling?” Loki inquired, considering how quickly they could be done with lunch.

Darcy took another sip of her champagne, gaze fixed on him over the rim of her glass. “Yes.” She set the tall crystal flute down on the table, eyes still on his, and licked her lips. “I do.”

He was hit with a sharp bolt of desire as her pink tongue rolled across her succulent bottom lip. “I am no longer hungry.”

She planted both hands on the table, lifting herself up until she was leaning across it with her face mere inches from his. Then she picked up one of the figs, holding it up for him to a take a bite, before sensuously sliding the rest into her own mouth and chirping, “Too bad, I’m starving.” Darcy dropped back into her seat with a smug grin and pushed the tray towards him. “Eat up, buddy. You’re gonna want the energy for stamina later.”

Loki groaned. The unscrupulous little tease across the table merely blinked guilelessly, and took another fig. “I intend to repay you for that, Demon.”

“Oh yeah?” Her eyes danced playfully, and she threw a fava bean at him. “Bring it. I’m pretty sure we’re evenly matched.”

“Indeed?” He waved his hand, and the champagne bottle lifted into the air, hovered above her head, and began to tilt lazily to the side.

“Don’t you dare,” she threatened, refusing to look up at the bottle which was now perilously close to spilling its contents on her.

“You could always concede,” Loki offered. A single drop of champagne tumbled from the mouth of the bottle and splashed onto her headband.

“You don’t want to start this. Trust me,” Darcy said, and the dish of olives lifted a few inches off the table.

His gaze shifted to the olives, which were rapidly rising. “I should probably warn you that I have been able to cast deflection spells since I was a boy.”

“And I should probably warn _you_ that I can totally cancel them in my sleep. That’s the problem when you decide to have a food fight with a higher being. See, you may be the God of Mischief, but I’m the motherfucking Marquess of Hell. That basically makes me the Lord Voldemort of this kind of shit. I’d back off if I were you.”

Loki automatically tried to sense the magic from his deflection spell. As she had said, it was gone. 

“What?” She smirked. “You thought I wouldn’t cheat?”

The olives were now suspended directly above him, waiting on her signal. He looked up at them briefly, and then back at her. “Do you have a bathing room?”

“Um...yeah? Why would you… _FUCK_!!!” She gasped in shock as the chilled champagne poured out all over her. “Oh you asshole,” Darcy said between curses and laughter. “You are so dead now.”

With a series of oily thuds, the olives began hitting the crown of his head. Most of them rolled harmlessly to the ground, but a few bounced off Loki’s face, and became lodged in various spots of his armor. A notable amount gathered in the leather tunic stretched over his lap. He waited until the assault was over before calmly plucking one from his collar and flicking it onto the ground.

“Are you quite finished?” he asked, lips twitching into a smile at the sight of her soaked hair and clothing.

Darcy picked up an olive which had made it back onto the table and popped it into her mouth. “Maybe. I might just be getting warmed up.”

“Is that so?” An errant drop of champagne fell from her chin and made its way over the curve of one perfect breast. Loki found himself overcome with envy. She caught the direction of his stare, and he was pleased to see the rise and fall of her chest increase in speed. 

For a few breathless moments the two of them just sat there, covered in champagne and olives, and chests heaving with unresolved lust. Then Darcy caved.

“Screw lunch,” she declared, shoving the entire tray of sandwiches onto the ground, and climbing onto the table.

Loki stood up so quickly that his chair went crashing into the small stone wall surrounding the herbal hedge. He had just enough time to get his hands around her waist before Darcy’s lips were on his, hot and demanding. Her nails raked over the leather and fabric covering his back desperately. His hands slid behind her, fingers burying in the soft feathers at the base of her wings. They snapped up immediately, curving around forwards, and Loki found himself sheltered inside them as she moaned her approval into his mouth. 

“I’m covered in champagne,” Darcy said, when they paused for breath.

“I know.” He sucked on her earlobe and she shuddered. 

“You have olives wedged in your chest plate thing.” 

“That has not escaped my notice either,” Loki replied, groaning as she slid a hand under his tunic so she could palm him through his pants. 

“Right. So, that being the case, wanna check out my bathtub? It’s really big, for wing-related reasons, and… Oh my god. That’s your hand under my dress,” she said unnecessarily. He knew exactly where his hand was.

“Shall I stop?” Loki’s fingertips grazed the soft skin of her inner thigh, moving ever higher towards their goal.

Darcy found the closure of his pants and deftly opened them. “Not unless you want to die a swift, fiery death. Holy _fuck_ , that’s impressive.”

He hissed as her fingers closed around his straining length and gave it a firm stroke from base to tip. “Are you quite certain you are not a succubus?”

“Positive. Look, I know we just talked about taking a bath and all, but I’ve changed my mind. Just pick a flat surface, any flat surface, and lie down on it. _Now_.”

“As you wish,” Loki chuckled, the tail end of it lost in a groan as she stroked him again. The table seemed a questionable choice. He doubted it would hold their combined weight. The rolling lawn behind them was much more appealing. He had just begun to lift her in preparation to teleport, when there was sound of someone approaching.

“Well, hello, hello,” a smug voice called out. “I was just about to have that copy of Clueless professionally detailed for you, but it looks like that won’t be necessary.”

Loki looked up to see a grinning demon with dark hair, an elegantly tailored suit, and bat-like wings approaching them. Darcy rested her forehead on his chest, muttering something unintelligible that sounded very like a curse. 

Then she lifted her head, righted their clothes with magic, and said, “Perfect timing, asshat. I’m totally not in the middle of anything. At all.”

"Oh good. Then you won’t mind if I stay," the male demon cheerfully replied. "Are those olives in his armor?"

Darcy groaned with frustration. "I hate you."

Loki found himself completely out patience with the entire situation in general, and their unwanted guest in particular. "Who is this?" he demanded.

"This," she replied with a loud sigh, "is my best friend, who apparently is doubling as a cock-blocking shit today." She glared furiously at the other demon for a second, and then said, "Loki, meet Azazel."


	6. Friends and Frenemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Darcy gets the distinct feeling that Loki and Azazel are not the brotp she hoped they'd be. (And she also wants to murder Azazel for a vast myriad of reasons.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Looks around sheepishly* Um. Okay, it has been a long time since I updated this, and I can only apologize to all of you for making you wait so long. Sometimes life and muses refuse to cooperate, and the simple truth is that I've been having some complications with both lately. That being said, I'm tentatively going to say I'm back on track, and regular updates on this fic are in the cards again. 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry about the reviews that have gone without a reply from me. Normally I try to respond to every single one, but I just couldn't manage it recently. Just know I read every single one, and I'm so grateful that you took the time to comment on my fics. It really means a lot to me. Hopefully, now that a few things have settled down around here, I'll be able to answer them in a timely way again.
> 
> <3 <3 <3
> 
> -Lefty
> 
> ps to make up for the delay, the next chapter is gonna have some bow-chicka-bow-bow ;)
> 
> ********************************************************************

The instant Darcy heard someone coming towards them, she knew it had to be Azazel. He was the only one besides her Uncle Lucifer with the balls show up without an invitation, and if the visitor was her uncle she would have heard Forcas simpering away already. Clearly she needed to have a little chat with Ma about minding her own damn business and not letting just anyone through the gate into France when Darcy had visitors. 

“Well, hello, hello,” the other demon said gleefully. “I was just about to have that copy of Clueless professionally detailed for you, but it looks like that won’t be necessary.”

“Perfect timing, asshat.” Darcy bit out between clenched teeth. “I’m totally not in the middle of anything. At all.”

"Oh good,” Azazel replied. “Then you won’t mind if I stay. Are those olives in his armor?"

Honest to fuck, she was going _murder_ Azazel. Well, first she was going to do some damage control. _Then_ she was going to murder him. In cold blood. With a rusty spoon.

I took a few seconds to use magic to right their clothes, and then she finally turned to look at him over her shoulder. “I hate you.”

At the same time, Loki angrily demanded, “Who is this?”

Darcy sighed. "This is my best friend, who apparently is doubling as a cock-blocking shit today." She met Azazel’s amused smirk with a death-glare. "Loki, meet Azazel."

"Enchanté,” Azazel said, looking like he was enjoying himself immensely. “Now, what does a guy have to do to get some lunch around here?"

"Go home?" Darcy suggested.

"Au contraire, my little demonic kitten. I wouldn't miss this for the world. Besides, I'm out of pancetta."

"If I feed you, will you go back to Hell?" She folded her arms across her chest, still looking at the Azazel over her shoulder. 

"Potentially. As long as I approve of your boyfriend," he said. 

Loki bristled. Darcy sighed again. Azazel pulled up a chair and sat down.

"Fine. Whatever. I’ll be right back," she hissed, then she said to Loki under her breath. "Give me ten minutes to get rid of him. After that he's all yours." She climbed off the table, and headed for the house. Just before she reached the kitchen door, Darcy turned, pointed at them both, and said, "No murdering each other. I mean it."

"Are you addressing moi? Babe, you know me. I’ll be the epitome of decorum," Azazel assured her with a wink. "Go. We'll be fine.”

She glared at him a final time, and then Loki and Azazel were left in the garden alone. 

"So," she could hear Azazel saying as the door swung shut behind her, "what are your intentions with Darcy?"

Darcy wondered just how long she would have until there was bloodshed. Loki was already annoyed, and Azazel was already going into protective big brother mode. Epitome of decorum her ass. They’d take half the French countryside with them if they go into it, and Darcy didn’t want to have to clean it up. She figured the less time they were left alone the better. 

It only took a second to conjure up a fresh plate of sandwiches. She was just about to carry them outside, when she caught another glimpse of Azazel’s self-satisfied face. Stepping into the pantry for a moment, Darcy retrieved a jar of Bhut Jolokia peppers, and carefully hid a few slivers inside his sandwiches. There. He wanted lunch? He was getting the lunch from Hell. 

She walked back out onto the patio, tray balanced in on hand. Loki was deliberately sprawled out across his chair, face stony, and eyes fixed on a distant point of the garden. Azazel was lounging casually, sunglasses perched on his head with an air of studied nonchalance. Darcy could practically taste the tension in the air. They were seconds from a throwdown. 

“Here,” she said, dropping the tray on the table with a bang. “Eat.”

“You know, I’m getting the distinct impression that you aren’t happy to see me,” her potential ex-friend replied, taking a sandwich.

“The next time you have a girl over, I’m going to show up with Pickles,” Darcy threatened. “Nothing kills the mood faster than an eight-headed dragon with a flame-throwing halitosis problem.”

“Hey! I’m only being neighborly. Besides, is that any way to talk to…” Azazel paused, eyes bulging. As Darcy watched in satisfaction, he started to cough, sweat beading on his forehead and tears forming in his eyes.

“Is everything alright, Zaze? You look a little thirsty. Too bad I don’t have anything to drink out here.” She snapped her fingers, and the only unbroken bottle of wine disappeared.

“Are those...ghost peppers? You put ghost peppers in my sandwich???” he wheezed.

“Did I?” Darcy smiled evilly. “Crap. I must have gotten them mixed up with the cubanelles. I’m so sorry.”

“Are they poisonous?” Loki inquired hopefully.

“Unfortunately not, just face-meltingly horrendous,” she responded. “Want to try one?”

He shook his head, amusement quirking up his lips. “As tempting as that offer is, I think I shall pass.”

Azazel continued to hack away noisily. As they watched, he created a bottle of Zima out thin air, and poured the entirety of it into his mouth.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Seriously dude? Zima? Where do you even get that shit?”

“Excuse me, but it’s still very popular in Japan,” he gasped. 

Huh. Who knew? She settled back in her seat and crossed her legs. “So, how’s barging in on us going for you?”

“Less than ideal,” Azazel replied, conjuring up a second bottle of Zima. “That was harsh, Darceline. I was only looking out for my bestie.”

“You were being a nosy old lady, Zaze, and we both know it. Did Uncle Lucie send you?”

“No. I do come up with things on my own, you know,” he said in a wounded tone. 

“If it is any consolation to you, he is telling the truth,” Loki advised. “Are any of those sandwiches safe to eat?”

“Yep.” Darcy took one of the non-pepper laced sandwiches and handed it to him. “I almost forgot you can tell when someone is lying.”

“One of my more useful talents.” Loki looked at the sandwich warily before biting into it. His face immediately relaxed. “If you ever decide to leave your post here, I will gladly install you as a cook.”

“Watch it there, Your Green and Gothness. I can pepperfy that sandwich with a flick of my wrist.”

“A cook who shares my bed, and my throne,” he answered, shooting her a look that made her knees weak. 

Darcy considered throwing him to the ground and getting on with things despite Azazel and his Zima. “I kind of like my job down here, but I’ll think about it,” she replied. “Although, no offense, but I’d bring my own throne. Odin’s is beyond ridiculous. You couldn’t pay me to sit on that thing. What the hell is it supposed to be, anyway?”

“Did you just offer to make her your queen?” Azazel asked before Loki could address her question. “Because that’s what it sounded like to me.”

Loki blinked. He was clearly uncomfortable. “I…”

“Drink your Zima, Azazel,” Darcy said, shooting him a blistering look.

“Hey, I’m just trying to get some clarification. It sounded like he was offering you half his kingdom to me.” The other demon grinned, then winced and took another long sip from the bottle in his hand. “Not that he has the kingdom yet. He’s surprisingly optimistic for a guy who’s had his ass handed to him two times before during hostile takeovers.”

The God of Mischief abruptly got to his feet, a silver blade appearing in his hand.

“Whoa,” Darcy said. “Let’s not get crazy." She began physically shoving Loki back towards his seat until he finally relented and sat back down. Once she'd wrestled the blade away, she turned back to Azazel and said, "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you completely unaware of appropriate social cues?” 

“Oh, I’m aware of them, I just don’t let that stop me,” Azazel corrected. 

“In other words, he is an ass,” Loki replied.

"You have to admit he has a point," she said to Azazel.

The demon narrowed his eyes at the God of Mischief. “You know, I was all prepared to like you.”

“Then perhaps you should not have attempted to make my acquaintance while I was otherwise engaged with Darcy,” Loki said.

“Okay. I’ll give you that. It was poor timing, but in my defense, I’m only looking out for Her Royal Fabulousness over there.”

“I’m right here, you idiots,” Darcy interrupted, wings rustling in annoyance.

“Yes you are, Miss Sassy. Isn’t she sassy?” Azazel asked Loki. “It’s one of her better qualities.”

“It is quite appealing,” he agreed.

She stared at Loki, open mouthed. “Oh my god, are you ganging up on me? Ten seconds ago you were ready to kill him.”

“I was merely acceding his point. Would you rather I disliked your outspokenness?” Loki asked mildly.

“No…” Darcy leaned back in her seat, a glass of wine appearing in her hand. “I guess not.”

Azazel poked cautiously at one of the remaining sandwiches. Once he’d established that it was pepper-free, he picked it up and bit into it. Then he used it to gesture at Loki. “You still have olives in your amor. Just thought I’d put that out there in case you wanted to do something about it.”

Loki sighed and swept his hand through the air over his body. The olives disappeared. Darcy took a sandwich of her own, sending the peppers into another dimension before starting to eat it.

“So, have you satisfied yourself that he’s not a threat?” she asked Azazel.

“Maybe.” He looked Loki up and down. “Ma wasn’t convinced.”

Darcy shook her head. "I knew she was behind you showing up." 

“Of course she was. Can you blame her, though? I mean, not to bring up Abaddon or anything, but _hello_ , Abaddon.”

Loki’s head swiveled between them, eyes darkening the moment Darcy’s ex came up. She saw it, and tried to hurry the conversation along.

“Look, he was a minor…”

“Several thousand year,” Azazel interrupted.

“...mistake,” she finished. “I’m over it. He’s over it. We’ve moved on. Something you should try Zaze. Anyway, how about those Mets?”

Azazel cocked his head at her. “Yankees. I wouldn’t cross the street to see the Mets.”

“No, you’d take the subway,” Darcy replied with a sugary smile.

“Cute. You know, I could tell him all about that time in the Parisian sex dunge…”

“No,” she quickly cut him off. “You couldn’t. Not if you want to survive lunch.”

“Parisian sex what?” Loki inquired with deep interest. 

“Nothing,” Darcy said firmly. “It’s a very boring story. Trust me.”

Azazel grinned. “Funny, I don’t remember it that way at all.”

“You’re not going to remember anything shortly, because I’m going to remove your head with this sandwich tray,” she retorted.

“Are the two of you always like this?” Loki asked.

“No,” Azazel said.

At the same time Darcy replied, “Yes.”

They stared at each other for a moment and then both said, “Sometimes.”

“I love him,” Darcy declared. “He’s just a total pain in the ass.”

“Ditto.” Azazel set his empty bottle of Zima down on the table. “Although usually she’s happier to see me.”

“Usually you aren’t interrupting awesome sexytimes with a really hot god in my backyard,” she said.

Loki shifted in his seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him. After a second Darcy realized he was _preening_.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh my god. I’m going back into the house.”

“Please,” Azazel snorted. "You aren't going anywhere and you know it." He grinned at Loki. “Don't worry. Our little Demonette here is a Sagittarius. She can’t stand not to be where the action is, and right now it’s on this veranda.”

“Patio,” she said with a sigh. He was right, damn him. She wasn’t going anywhere.

“And now she’s correcting me because she doesn’t want you to notice that I’m right,” Azazel said triumphantly. 

“Sagittarius? Is that not a Midgardian astrological sign?” Loki asked. “You follow astrology?”

“Well _I_ don’t,” Azazel told him. “But then again I wasn’t born, I was created. So it doesn’t really apply to me.”

Darcy looked up sharply at her friend. He seemed to realize what he’d said, and swallowed nervously. 

“Not that how I came into being is important,” he declared a little too firmly. “None of that matters.”

Loki’s brow furrowed. Darcy knew full well that it wouldn’t take him long to work it out. He was no idiot, and Azazel’s words implied far too much. 

“So, this has been nice. Hasn’t it been nice?” She smiled brightly. They both turned to stare her incredulously. “You know, the parts where no one was threatening anyone else with death and dismemberment.”

“I don’t remember the dismemberment,” Azazel said to Loki. “Do you?”

“There was. I'm sure of it,” Darcy answered. “Anyway, we should probably be getting back to Asgard.”

“I see no reason to rush.” Loki was still regarding her contemplatively. 

Azazel glanced between the two of them, and stood up. “I uh, I just remembered there are some things I need to take care of in New York. Thanks for lunch, Kitten. I’ll check in on you when I get back.” He leaned in to kiss her fleetingly on each cheek.

“Yeah. You’re welcome.” Then she gave him a thin lipped smile, and continued in a sotto voice, “You might want to sleep with one eye open tonight, buddy. Because if he figures out what you meant, I am going to destroy you.” 

"Don't worry, sweets. We totally covered for it. He doesn't suspect a thing." With that parting remark, Azazel dropped his sunglasses back over his eyes, said, “Later haters,” and disappeared in a clap of brimstone.

In the aftermath of his departure, Loki remained silent. Darcy had begun to wonder if maybe Azazel was right, and she was going to get away with not having to discuss the subject of her controversial parentage. Her wings had finally begun to relax, when Loki cleared his throat.

Shit.

“So,” he said quietly. “I don't suppose there is something you want to tell me about your mother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg you guys, have you seen the awesome fan art that's been for this fic? This one is by the incomparable[anniemar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieMar/pseuds/AnnieMar)
> 
> And these two are by the incredibly awesome and talented [Crazynoona aka Soothsayerstale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crazynoona/pseuds/crazynoona)  
>    
> 


End file.
